


Overwatch Smut Anthology

by NonaAdler



Series: Overwatch Smut Anthology [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Futanari, Gangbang, Gay Sex, Gen, Group Sex, Lemon, Lesbian Sex, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Outdoor Sex, Public Masturbation, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Robot Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Spitroasting, Squirting, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonaAdler/pseuds/NonaAdler
Summary: A collection of short erotic stories featuring the cast of Overwatch.Characters by Chapter:1. Zenyatta X Orisa2. Orisa3. D. Va4. Doomfist X Widowmaker X Roadhog5. Widowmaker6. Ana X Mercy7. Hanzo X Reaper8. Pharah X Sombra9. Brigitte X Zarya X Reinhardt10. Mei X Baptiste X McCree X Torbjorn X Junkrat11. Ashe X Lucio12. D. Va X Futa-Widowmaker





	1. Zenyatta X Orisa - Pleasure as Proof of Life

**Author's Note:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stationed in an isolated base in the Antarctic, Zenyatta and Orisa contemplate the parts of their programming that can't be explained through algorithms and system evaluations. 
> 
> This chapter contains: Robot Sex

Eight blue circles swirl in a deep black canvas, one always chasing the next. A steady, low hum accompanies their perpetual movement. The colors transition in unison to green, then yellow, then orange. The orange brightens and gives way to a light red. And the circles stop.

Zenyatta’s internal CPU heats as he enters a higher state of consciousness. He disconnects the power cable from his hip and recalls the orbs that had been circling in front of him. They flock to his torso and orbit him, the light spilling from them now a soft blue. He sits with his legs crossed at the center of a room barely wider than his arm span. He pushes off the ground and hovers to a wall, pressing his back against the cool concrete. A small jolt of electricity travels from the neural center in his head to the newly welded appendage between his legs. His orbs flare a light orange, then return to blue. He processes the sensation and investigates its source, though touching the wall further gives no new data with which he could work.

He moves to the storage compartment embedded in the wall and retrieves his simple cloth trousers. He dresses himself and glides to the automatic doors, which open to reveal a windowless corridor with white pillars of light shooting from the floor every two feet. He follows the corridor to another set of automatic doors. They slide open and he enters an open room, the ceiling a glass dome that the wind and snow outside would rail against. Holographic monitors cover each wall, flashing data and diagrams and charting locations of omnic sightings.

Standing in front of one monitor is Orisa, her attention devoted to a map of Antarctica dotted with red marks. Zenyatta approaches her, silent save for the faint whir of his hardware.

“Peace be upon you,” he says. Orisa turns to him and the yellow light in her eyes brightens.

“Greetings!” she says. “I’ve wondered when you would return.” Zenyatta’s eyes fall on her modified trunk; the new simplified design provides a single light-yellow plate to cover her torso and two large breasts affixed to her chest, concealed by a band of steel that runs around her body. She towers over him, these anatomical additions level with his line of sight, and a spark travels through the wiring in his limp appendage. He looks up to her and basks in the light of her eyes.

“I apologize for my absence. Meditation is important for the soul,” he says. “Allow your system to idle in a low power state, receiving only basic sensory information while relying on an external source to keep from shutting down.” Orisa’s eyes dim.

“My diagnostic testing shows I am completely healthy,” she says.

“Our health is not limited to the physical.” Zenyatta studies her; though her face is made of metal and her nerves of circuitry, she has an expressiveness some humans could not match. Her eyes pass over Zenyatta’s form, then try to reconnect with his gaze. The attempt fails and she turns away.

“I have not found any errors in my software either.” She turns back to the monitors, scouring them for some distraction. “We must focus on the mission. We’ve been performing well under our typical efficiency standards.”

“Though you have found no errors within yourself?”

“The cold allows all of my systems to function at peak performance,” she says, her voice quieter.

“Then we must explore that which is beyond the mechanical and preprogrammed.” Zenyatta moves to her side. “This is the reason for meditation.” He places his hand on her arm. A gentle wave of static pulses where they make contact. They pull apart. Zenyatta’s attachment stiffens and expands, invigorated by the unexpected rush of electricity. Orisa shifts her hind legs closer together and brings one arm over her chest. They stare at each other.

“These new modifications… are they malfunctioning?” she says.

“They seem to function as Dr. Athena intended,” Zenyatta says, clasping his hands together and calming himself.

“I don’t understand what the correct protocol for this feeling requires,” Orisa says as her concealed anxiety slips into her speech. “It’s weighed on my mind since the additions were made. And they amplify when I’m near you. It’s confusing.”

“Feeling does not need protocol. It needs only to exist. We cannot understand it logically, but we can accept it as part of ourselves.” Despite his efforts, the steel pillar between his legs does not slacken. It stands solid and unyielding. The orbs revolving around him now glow a deep red.

“Why must she give us this hardware? What good are they to machines?” she asks as she wraps her arms tightly around her chest.

“We are more than machines. We are alive.” Zenyatta floats beside Orisa and rests his hand on her back, keeping it steady as the tingling travels through them. “Perhaps this is something that we cannot fully grasp alone.” Orisa looks to him, her eyes brightening.

“Some experimentation may help… Yes, allow me to record our data for future analysis,” she says. She closes her eyes until a chime escapes her head, then opens them and looks to Zenyatta. “Let us begin.”

Zenyatta runs his hand in circles on her back, giving them both a pleasant but subdued charge that spread through their neural networks. He traced the steel band from the center of her back, around her side, and over to her chest. As his fingers climbed up her breast, the sensation grew more intense. She sighed, something she could only do voluntarily as she did not need to breathe, though now seemed to happen unintentionally. Orisa nudges Zenyatta’s hands away and presses a button on the back of her neck. The steel covering slides away to expose her light-yellow breasts, white textile pads at their peaks.

Zenyatta shifts to her front and cups her breasts. An intense surge of electricity glides through their neural networks to flood the recently-implanted pleasure center in their brains. Zenyatta squeezes lightly and another burst of energy engulfs internal processors. Orisa sighs, louder and less restrained. Her breasts are composed of a malleable encased in a tight layer of satin, leaving her vulnerable to catastrophic damage when left unprotected. She watches Zenyatta caress her and, though she has exposed a major weakness, she senses no danger. 

He glides his thumbs over the textile patches and, as soon as he touches them, the sensation amplifies to stream of high-voltage ecstasy. Orisa yelps and Zenyatta releases his grasp, uncertain if he has hurt her. Orisa stares at Zenyatta and takes a step toward him, inviting him to touch her again. He raises his hands and presses into her breasts, sinking into them with his palms over her textile nipples. The rush returns. They savor it. Orisa, unable to fully control her speech module, lets slip a loud moan. Zenyatta drinks in her digital voice and unregulated facial expressions and her quivering legs, finding everything about her intoxicating and leading his pleasure center to flare.

Orisa reaches around Zenyatta and holds his metal rear over. “What about your new addition?” she asked. She slides her finger under his waistband. He straightens his legs as she lowers his trousers, revealing his stiff erection, the shaft of which containing the same material as Orisa’s breasts and the head the same as her nipples. She traces a protruding wire from the underside of the base up his length, then continued to the edge of the tip. Zenyatta realizes the world of difference between receiving stimulation and providing stimulation. Several basic systems disengage or refer to an automatic algorithm so he can devote processing power to this addictive feeling. Orisa circles his head with her finger and Zenyatta feels the pleasure compounding. He grips her breasts tighter. He temporarily loses control of his movement systems and he convulses as a bolt of lightning erupts from his tip. The electricity connects with Orisa and overwhelms her circuitry. She reciprocates with two bolts that expel from her nipples and surge up Zenyatta’s arms. His orbs whirl around him, flashing a mosaic of neon lights. He regains some control and the orbs slow, their erratic patterns settling into a bright red. The two bask in the lingering feeling.

“There’s one more piece of hardware we still must test,” Orisa says. She spins around and presents her rear to Zenyatta. A thin steel cover between her hind legs opens to reveal a textile port. Zenyatta grabs hold of Orisa’s metal hips, the minor buzz at their connection exciting him, and guides himself into the port. The textile to textile contact sends a dizzying pulse of pure energy that removes them from the world for a moment as their sensory capacitors overflow, forcing several systems to decrease output to prevent from overheating. Zenyatta sits inside of Orisa and the sensation dulls. He adjusts his position and finds that by creating friction, he reinvigorates the feeling. He wraps his legs around hers and clings to her rear, rocking his hips and enjoying as much of her body as he could. Orisa staggers as the influx of stimuli weakens her ability to stay upright, so she grabs hold of a railing along the wall to keep herself steady.

Zenyatta, drunk on the electricity coursing through him, moves faster. Orisa pushes against him, forcing him to thrust harder and travel deeper. Her front legs buckle, and she drops to her knees. She removes one hand from the railing and rubs her breast, leaving her mind so taken with pleasure that she no longer has the RAM necessary to record their intimate experiment. A chime signals the end of her data collection. They ravish each other until Zenyatta feels the charge mounting. He accelerates, leading Orisa to wail and shudder, and together they release massive surges of electricity, nearly shorting their own internal batteries.

Zenyatta removes himself from Orisa and his member slackens. The orbs around transition from their orgasmic light show to a light yellow. He rounds Orisa’s body and sits on the floor beside her. She looks to him, her eyes glowing brighter than he had ever seen.

“Is this life?” she asks. Zenyatta smiles.

“Yes, and perhaps something more.” He places his hand on her cheek, and his orbs widen their path to orbit the two of them.


	2. OWSA Chapter 2: Orisa - Software Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Efi isolated herself after her parents were assassinated and has channeled years of frustration into tweaking Orisa's anatomy. After deciding to reenter society, she and Orisa await an escort when a group of omnic attackers come before them. Now Orisa must deal with the effects of her strange new body has on her combat abilities.
> 
> This chapter contains: Masochism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

A few months after Efi assembled Orisa, an omnic assassin murdered her parents. Though Orisa stood with her and the community offered to support her, she could not cope with the loss. She alienated herself as puberty struck, trusting none but Orisa. Her isolated development into a young woman led to much frustration, which she vented through tinkering with Orisa’s design. Where Orisa’s hardware prevented her from understanding or relating to Efi’s struggles, Efi made modifications to Orisa that mimicked her own physiological changes.

Once a machine built to protect at all costs, Orisa had undergone significant changes to her artificial intelligence such that lust and pleasure weighed on her mind as frequently as safety protocols and threat detection. Her body remained distinctly centaur-like, though the particulars of her anatomy changed to increase her sensitivity to touch. Atop her metal chassis, a sleek layer of touch-sensitive interwoven circuits that felt like polyester, making Orisa’s exterior twice as sensitive as human skin. She gained two pairs of breasts, one above the other, which had the same weight and feel of human breasts equal to the size of basketballs. Each was filled with far more sensors than the rest of her new body, second only to the narrow slit between her two back legs.

The two stayed in a bunker several miles outside of Numbani, and Efi used her status as an asset to Overwatch to get people to bring her food and supplies. She worked on developing weapons in private, using Orisa as a test subject for each new development. Efi became more stable over time and realized that her modifications would threaten Orisa’s combat abilities. Orisa requested to keep the changes as they demonstrated her connection to Efi’s struggles.

Though Orisa would not admit it, Efi figured the modifications presented new, addictive passions that a previously unfeeling robot would not want to lose. Efi often had to replace or repair Orisa’s hydraulics as she would frequently ride a specially constructed steel dildo, constructed to prevent her from stealing parts for masturbation. She would spend entire nights enjoying the toy with her voice box muted to keep from waking Efi.

So, on top of the capricious hormone-driven upgrades that Efi made, buffed Orisa’s armor and weapons. Orisa’s body could withstand a flurry of bullets, missiles, and energy blasts with little to no damage. However, Efi would not run durability tests once the attachments were put on Orisa, so neither knew how taking damage would affect Orisa’s artificial nervous system and whether there would be unforeseen after effects. 

Eight years after her self-imposed exile, Efi has mellowed enough to rejoin society. She announces her intent to bring Orisa and her lab back to Numbani, and Overwatch Headquarters offer to shuttle them back to the city and celebrate their return with a dinner party. The two wait outside their bunker, the silhouettes of Numbani’s many skyscrapers shimmering on the horizon from the hot desert air’s distortion. A single cloud hangs in the sky above them. A light breeze crosses Orisa’s artificial skin and she shudders. Efi frowns.

“Have I made your skin too sensitive?” she asks, placing a hand on Orisa’s back. Orisa flinches, then accepts her touch.

“All systems seem normal,” Orisa says. The pleasure center implanted deep inside her rear chassis purrs as Efi traces circles on Orisa’s haunches. Efi stops teasing and listens to the internal whirring.

“By the way, I have a software upgrade to give you,” she says. “Since your skin is meant to absorb what you feel, I figured out a way for you to collect and harness any pain you may experience.”

“Will this be applicable to other data aside from pain?” Orisa says.

“Maybe,” Efi says, “but I designed this for defense purposes.” She takes a narrow cylinder out of her pocket and circles to Orisa’s rear—Efi nixed a concept to add cushioned fibers to give Orisa a proper butt as she wasn’t satisfied with her concept sketches. “The upgrade needs to be applied to your major neural network, so… excuse me.”

“Please,” Orisa says, suppressing a giddiness that welled inside her. Efi parted the Orisa’s synthetic labia and slowly inserted the pen. Orisa muted her voice system so Efi would not hear her scream in delight. Once fully inside her, the tip of the cylinder’s casing opens, and a smaller metal node exits to connect with the auxiliary jack at the end of Orisa’s vagina. She celebrates in silence as a brief jolt of pleasure washes over her body. A moment later, Efi removes the cylinder.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay fighting?” Efi asks. “It’s been a while since you were on the front lines.” She comes around to Orisa’s front. Orisa gestures as if speaking, though no sound comes out. “You’ll need to unmute your voice box.” Orisa does so, her eyes dimming from embarrassment.

“I have simulated several battles during our time together and have succeeded in 96.3% of scenarios,” Orisa says. Efi smiles.

“So you haven’t changed too much,” she says under her breath. Orisa throws a hand out and guides Efi to her side. “What’s wrong?” It takes a moment for Efi to hear the low hum growing louder above her. She looks up; a small omnic ship makes a quick descent, though it has no markings to signify the identity of the owners.

“They must have hidden in the cloud. I advise you to stay behind my barrier,” Orisa says as she shoots her energy barrier. The ship lands in front of them. The doors open and ten omnic insurgents rush out, their bodies reminiscent of armored skeletons and with automatic pulse rifles in their hands. Orisa readies her weapon, though before she can fire, the omnics run around her barrier and take aim at Efi. Orisa twirls around, snatches Efi, and tosses her under her chassis. The omnics open fire and land ten highly concentrated blows on Orisa.

She expected the pain but did not anticipate the accompanying and overwhelming pleasure. She moaned as the plasma rails into her many breasts. Each point of contact feels to her like an explosion of bliss that she had not felt before. She lowers her cannon and spreads her arms, inviting further damage. The omnics fire an unrelenting volley of plasma that sticks to Orisa’s breasts. It burns on contact and oozes over her sensitive skin. She cries out and her body shakes from the incredible sensation.

The energy that flows through her becomes uncontrollable and she lifts her gun to the omnics, sending a score of shots far more powerful than theirs. Without regard for aim, the shots spray wildly and find purchase on five of the omnics, obliterating them. The survivors, aware that their opponent holds more power than they can deal with, attempt to flee. Orisa catches one as he passes and tosses him to the ground. He points his weapon at her and fires. The close impact of the gun to the underside of her breasts make them swing and juggle and slap against her torso. She wails, enthralled by the pain.

The omnic backs away on his elbows, too bewildered to stand. Orisa turns around and backs over him. When she senses the barrel of his gun hovers close to her pussy, she stomps on his legs to prevent escape and lowers herself as far down the barrel as she can fit. The omnic holds the trigger and a stream of plasma batters and fills Orisa. Her legs quiver and her mind hazes over as the intense combination of pleasure and pain make rational thought disappear.

Efi watches, stunned by the monster she has created and regretting the many years of her own frustration that brought her close friend to such an extreme state. The four remaining omnics gather in their craft and prepare to take off. Efi looks to Orisa, whose unrestrained lust keeps her occupied with the grounded omnic. She feels for the cylinder in her pocket, gets to her feet, and darts back into the facility.

The omnic that Orisa has captured stops firing as the plasma overflowing from Orisa’s pussy drip onto his body. The sudden absence of pain frustrates Orisa, who stumbles and accidently crushes the omnic’s head under foot. Her vision receptors clarify as her CPU diverts some resources away from processing outside stimuli. She notices the omnic ship rising and hurries toward it. As soon as Orisa reaches the ship, it launches ten meters into the air. Orisa sends a graviton surge that catches the ship and whips it back down. She stands beneath it as it crashes, indulging in the blunt force against her skin. She flips the ship away and watches the four passengers drag themselves out of it. She walks up to them and they freeze in terror.

“Please, do not flee,” she says, her eyes a bright red and wide open. She fires a single shot into the sand behind them. The sand explodes and a three-meter crater forms. She points her cannon to the omnics. “Continue your resistance.”

Efi transfers a file to the narrow cylinder and removes from the port on her laptop. She runs up the stairs and finds Orisa in the center of the road with the four omnics surrounding her. Two stand in front of her, beating her breasts with pipes torn from the destroyed ship. A third shoots her side with his plasma rifle, and a fourth rammed the barrel of his gun in and out of her pussy, keeping the trigger depressed. Orisa neither moves nor makes a sound as every bit of her computing power is dedicated to handling the immense pleasure. The light of her eyes dim as her body overheats and her systems shut down.

Efi, fearing that she may overload and destroy herself from the excess exposure, runs up to Orisa. She knocks the rear omnic aside and crams the cylinder into Orisa, burning her hand on the leaking plasma. A surge of power knocks everyone back. Orisa stands idle for a moment, then a pleasant jingle resounds, and she reboots. Her eyes take on a familiar yellow glow. She looks at the omnics surrounding her and at Efi lying on the ground. Orisa eliminates the omnics to keep Efi safe; a single shot of her cannon is enough to demolish each one.

Orisa turns to Efi. “I feel different,” she says.

“I had to replace that new upgrade and reduce the sensitivity of your pleasure sensors,” Efi says. She stands, looks over Orisa’s plasma-riddled body, and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done all this to you.”

“I should have controlled myself,” Orisa says. “These features let me feel different from a normal machine. I almost feel… human.”

Efi runs up to Orisa and wraps her arms around her torso, burying her face between both of Orisa’s cleavages. The plasma has cooled and hardened, though she does not mind. “Sorry for everything,” Efi says. She pulls away and Orisa notices the burns on her hand.

“Let’s wait inside. We’ll be safer there,” Orisa says. She trots into their bunker and hunts for a bandage. Efi follows, and Orisa patches her up. They wait together and pass the time laughing about the once painful times that brought on Orisa’s unique anatomy.


	3. D. Va - Overheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D. Va chases omnic attackers deep into the desert. The journey back to the Temple of Anubis is hot and miserable, but she finds a way to make it exciting.
> 
> This chapter contains: Exhibitionism, Public Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

D. Va laid in the cockpit of her mech and looked out over the Egyptian desert. An omnic threat near the Temple of Anubis brought her to Egypt, and when they attacked one day, she fought them off. Some ran from her using speed-boosted propulsion devices. Not willing to let a kill escape, she hunted the fleeing robots down without mercy and destroyed them. She chased them for dozens of miles and found herself in the middle of the desert with no idea of how to get back to civilization.

Her navigational system was damaged during the fight, and no one else had followed her, so she was lost and alone. She looked up at the sun high in the sky; when she arrived at the temple, it was late in the morning. She remembered the sun shining in her eyes while in pursuit of the omnics, which meant she had travelled east. She turned westward and set off.

The desert sun bore down on her. She was used to the milder climate in Busan, and so was her mech. Without shade or bodies of water to cool her mech, the metal exterior absorbed every ray of heat that fell on it. The sandy dunes that she crossed made the journey even more difficult as she had trouble finding stable footing. This slowed her travel and forced her to spend more time in the sun. She tried to blast through the air, but her mech was already so hot that the heat coming from her jets threatened to overheat her system. She was stuck on land.

She crossed a mile of desert before the cooling systems inside her mech stopped functioning and the cockpit heated. A bead of sweat formed on her brow and slid down her temple, caressing her cheek and riding along the edge of her mandible until stopping at the tip of her chin. One heavy footfall after another rattled the mech and caused the drop to fall onto her control panel. Another bead followed the same path, and a few more trails formed along her face that made her flawless pale skin glisten. She didn’t bother wiping the sweat away; every drop tingled on her sensitive and flushed cheeks. The feeling gave a little relief in the uncomfortable situation.

She tied her hair back into a ponytail so sweat could trail down her neck. Despite the intense heat, she shivered as a drop slowly crawled along her vertebrae and came to rest on the collar of her suit. She rubbed her gloved hand on her neck and spread the moisture to evenly coat her skin. Small pools formed on the long, padded, leather commander’s bench that she straddled.

When D. Va was stationed in hot climates like Egypt, she never wore anything under her pilot’s suit. The sleek fabric hugged her body and showed off every curve on her petite figure. It also trapped a lot of her body heat, and even in temperate Busan she would soak the underwear beneath her suit in sweat when summer came along. She didn’t bother to pack a single undergarment for her brief deployment in Egypt.

She felt her body sticking to her suit as the sweat gathered in between. There was no room for the sweat to travel. She removed her gloves first and tried to ignore the compounding of heat and humidity within her suit. She lowered the zipper on her front enough to expose her collar bone, and though the cockpit was hot, she again felt a chill when her contained skin met open air.

It was a subtle feeling, but it set off a chain reaction that travelled through her entire body. Goosebumps covered the back of her chest and her nipples stiffened, protruding through the suit. She shivered as her pussy twitched. She squeezed the bench with her thighs and pushed her hips down. Perhaps not an ideal time to get turned on, but she couldn’t control herself. The heat made her delirious and the solitude made her bold. She took a sip from the water bottle beside her control panel, then made up her mind; she would make the best of her situation. The desert was making her miserable, and in doing so was winning a battle of wills. This was an endurance game, and D. Va wasn’t a good loser.

She scanned the horizon and saw no signs of life, so she put her mech on autopilot. It marched westward and D. Va took her hands off the controls. She rolled onto her back and unzipped all the way to the bottom stop above her pubic mound. The mech’s rhythmic gait made D. Va’s body bounce and each impact rippled through her breasts. The suit was stuck to her, though, and would not come loose on its own. She slowly peeled it away from her skin. It adhered tightly to her breasts, which were pressed against the bench for most of the trip and had attracted plenty of sweat. As the fabric detached, her nerves sparked and sent small waves of pleasure through her chest. She bit her lip as she opened her suit and exposed her breasts to the oppressive burn of the air in her mech. 

She slid the suit over her shoulders and down her arms. She ran her hands over her breasts. They stuck to the skin and dragged along as the old layer of sweat left the terrain difficult to navigate. She pinched her nipples and arched her back, surprised by the intensity of the feeling. She’d never stripped inside her mech, and never thought of doing anything sexual in the open. The situation turned her on more than she realized. She gave her nipples a gentle twist and held back a moan, a habit from the many times she had to hide her orgasms in the bathroom while on a mission with the MEKA squad. She closed her eyes, reminding herself that she had no reason to be secretive, and relaxed. She reclined her head against the edge of the control panel, unaware that her ponytail was resting on a button.

She fondled her breasts and moaned without restraint as a new layer of sweat coated her torso, acting as a lubricant. She squeezed and pressed her breasts together, then pushed her arms out as her hands glided up them. She reached her nipples and pinched them. Her arms continued to move away, pulling her nipples vertically until she couldn’t stretch them further. She let go and her breasts dropped quickly and jiggled as they settled back against her chest.

She dragged her fingertips down her abdomen and dug her thumbs under the remaining portion of her suit. She lifted her hips and slipped the suit down her thighs. She had little room to work with, so she brought her knees up to her chest to pull the suit over her calves and remove it completely. When she did this, her scent overcame her like a sudden breeze. The sweat mixed with her natural body odor and she became drunk on her own pheromones.

She kept her legs up and spread them. She ran her fingers through black curly hair that lead to her sopping wet labia. She gathered some of her wetness and tasted, smiling at how naughty and bold she’d become. She slid one hand up and down her labia while the other grabbed her breast. She moaned loudly. She plunged one finger deep into her pussy, arching her back and yelping at the sudden wave of pleasure.

She fingered herself slowly, dragging against the base of her slit as she entered and the roof as she exited. Her thumb rubbed her clit as she fingered, a benefit of the dexterity she earned from several years slaving over game controllers. She breathed deeply, enjoying her temporary freedom and talking dirty to herself.

“Fuck yes. Fuck me you dirty healslut. You do what I say, scrub. Mmf! Fuck me!” She quivered and yelled as she felt herself nearing orgasm. She wasn’t ready to end it yet; she wanted something more intense. She took the hand that had been groping her breasts and sucked on its fingers, tasting her salty yet appetizing sweat. She coated her fingers in saliva, set her feet on the bench, and lifted her hips. She brought her middle and index fingers to the opening of her asshole. She had only played with her ass a few times before, and though she enjoyed it, she found it hard to control herself when all her holes were filled. She would buck and scream, so she could only do it when she was alone, which was rare. She slid the fingers in slowly, her voice crying louder with every new centimeter she traversed.

She fingered her asshole quickly, knowing she could no longer delay the mounting orgasm. Her body shook uncontrollably, and she cried “Fuck!” as the orgasm flooded her body with unyielding pleasure. She convulsed, her breathing labored and deep. When she regained control of her body, she laid there for a moment, her fingers still resting inside her. She sighed at the potency of the orgasm and giggled over her newfound interest in exhibitionism.

She lifted her head and heard the click of a button releasing. She noticed that she’d pressed something at some point but didn’t know what she’d pressed or how long it had been that way. She shrugged it off, feeling it didn’t matter since nothing on the mech seemed in danger and no one else was around see or hear her.

She didn’t know how long she was lost in her orgasm, but she felt a strong and sudden need to pee. She turned off the autopilot and, still feeling kinky, opened the mech while naked. She threw on her shoes so the sand wouldn’t burn her feet and she hopped out. She stood in what little shade the mech provided and savored the slight breeze that caressed her bare body. She skipped for a few laps around her mech, flaunting her body to the sun and sand dunes. She was immediately wet again, though she decided to attend to more pressing matters first.

She stood behind her mech and squatted down, keeping her knees wide apart. Her lewd pose excited her, and she couldn’t stop giggling. She fantasized about all the other public places she could streak through, starting in secluded environments and working toward bolder stunts in populated areas. She closed her eyes for a moment, calming herself.

She sighed as the clear stream finally flowed from her. She opened her eyes to see two men, covered all over in cloth and holding the reigns to a camel, staring at her. She jumped and stumbled backward, falling onto her ass. Her cheeks flushed and tears formed in her eyes. She covered her breasts with her arms.

“Um… hi,” she said, the river of piss still flowing from her.

“We heard screaming,” one man said, “so we came to help. Are you—”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” she said. The men stared at her for a moment. The piss splashing into a growing puddle filled the awkward silence.

“Are you the streamer girl that—”

“Nope, sorry. I’m, uh… different.” The men looked at each other and had a hushed conversation.

“Ok. Excuse us,” he said, and the men left. D. Va watched them go, then sighed and covered her face. She finally finished pissing and stood, dusting the sand off her ass and climbing back into the mech. She cleaned herself with a napkin she’d saved from the previous day’s fast-food lunch. She was too early in her exhibitionist career to show off to strangers. She looked once more at her control panel and she saw immediately focused on the “Push-to-Talk” button than connected her internal mic with external speakers. Her bright mood darkened; she didn’t feel much like masturbating, instead wanting to return to the Overwatch base to decompress. She pulled her suit on, enduring the heat for the remainder of her boring hike through the desert and stewing in her embarrassment.


	4. Doomfist X Widowmaker X Roadhog - Return to Form, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker and Doomfist are sent on a mission to interrupt a meeting on behalf of Talon. Doomfist's impatience turns to lust, and their mission complicates further when Roadhog appears.
> 
> This chapter contains: Outdoor Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spitroasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

At a secret location in Paris, an underground inventor plans to option a new piece of machinery that will make it easier for the common man to deactivate omnics, thus saving more civilians and instigating a quick end to the decades long war. However, this equipment would complicate Talon’s plans to escalate the conflict and eliminate these people too weak to defend themselves, creating a stronger society of humans. So, two assassins are sent to eliminate the people in the meeting and to steal any prototypes and schematics that they find.

Atop a high-rise overlooking the entrance to the rumored location, Widowmaker lay prone and looks through her scope, searching for the guests slated to arrive. The sun has set, and the cool spring night falls over her. Doomfist paces behind her, impatient and anxious. He doesn’t specialize in ranged combat and is essentially useless until there is a crowd he could jump into and pummel. Widowmaker isn’t fond of working with him either as his antsy behavior is at best distracting and at worst annoying.

“Be still,” she says. “Your moving will draw attention.”

Doomfist grunts. “Why are we waiting for them to get together and combine their security forces? We should hunt them down.”

“If you do not like the plan, I can take care of it myself,” she says. Doomfist stops and glares at her.

“I won’t ignore my mission,” he says. “There is a world to rebuild.”

Widowmaker sighs, her frustration mounting. “Then wait. Find some way to keep yourself busy.”

Doomfist looks over her body; her back straight to withstand the recoil of her gun and her legs spread to stabilize herself. The back of her suit, much like the front, is cut in a low V and wraps tightly around her figure. Most of her back is exposed, and the opening tapers above her round ass. Her hips are wide, and her thighs are muscular and thick. The fabric hugs her so well that it digs between her ass cheeks and, as it wraps around the front, the outline of her pubic mound becomes clear.

He cannot stand her, nor can she tolerate him, yet their commanders often pair them up. While he finds her personality abhorrent, he calms himself by staring at her magnificent body. He fantasizes about the ways he would fuck her, how he wanted to hear her scream an apology for her stuck-up nature. Having failed his last mission due to her arrogance and strict adherence to the plan, his anger and resentment now felt untenable. He knows that she could feel little, physically and emotionally, and wonders what her reaction would be if he touched her. She had commanded him to keep busy after all.

He approaches with determination and kneels between her splayed legs. He rests his hands on her hamstrings and rubs them, surprised by how tight and solid her thighs feel. She looks over her shoulder, her fierce eyes boring through him, but says nothing. She turns back and looks through her scope.

Taking this for tacit approval—or indifference—he slides his hands up over her firm ass and squeezes. He rubs in circles as he grips tightly. He smacks her hard with his non-prosthetic hand and she gasps. She turns around quickly and places a finger over her lips. Doomfist nods, then resumes fondling her. Widowmaker returns her focus to the doorway it magnified in her scope.

Doomfist digs his palms into her and buries his fingers in her crack, noting how tightly she seemed to hold him without even trying. He is much larger than Widowmaker—he could wrap his hands around her waist and touch fingertip to fingertip—though her ass still requires the full span of each hand to properly contain. His cock grows harder. He brings one hand up to her bare back and slides it between the suit and her cold skin. Though she doesn’t have the warmth of an average woman, she doesn’t have the figure of one either, and Doomfist figures this makes up for the lack of body heat. The suit pinches his hand and nearly cuts off the blood flow to his bulky fingers from how form-fitting it is, though he perseveres and works his hand over her thin waist.

The suit slides off her shoulders as he comes to her ribcage. A little higher and his fingertips brush against the soft side of her breast. His hard-on peaks above the waistband of the thin cloth shorts he wears. He guides her sleeve down her arm, forcing her to take her finger off the rifle’s trigger to remove it completely. Without being asked, she quickly sheds the other side and focuses again on searching for their targets. Her bare breasts press into the chilled concrete roof.

Doomfist climbs over her legs and straddles her ass, grinding his cock between her cheeks while his hands wander around her naked back. He reaches under her arms and lifts her up enough to slide his hands over her breasts. His fingers sink into her skin, which would be smoother if not for the dirt she collected from resting on the roof. He flicks and pinches her nipples, stiff from the cold, and listens for any response she may have. She remains silent and uninterested in his touch. Doomfist smirks, feeling as if she’s challenging him to make her feel something.

He tweaks her nipples hard and she jolts beneath him. He wonders whether this was from pleasure or pain. In either case, he’s satisfied to have gotten a reaction. He releases her breasts and lifts himself to his knees, moving back and rubbing his cock through his shorts. He grabs her suit from above her ass and yanks it down with such force that he drags her half a foot along the concrete.

She throws a murderous scowl over her shoulder. “Do not get carried away,” she says. He sneers and lowers the suit down to her mid-thigh. She huffs and repositions herself.

Whenever they were put on a mission together, he often wondered whether she wore panties. It was nothing more than an idle fantasy to help pass the time. However, to now have the answer excites him even more. He grips her bare ass and spreads it to reveal her small asshole. His tongue flicks over his lips and he plunges his face into her.

He traces her asshole with the tip of his tongue, and she again flinches, not expecting him to take this route. She shakes off the momentary distraction as he fondles her taut butt. Doomfist finds she still tastes and smells like a typical woman, and kisses and sucks on her puckered asshole. He slides his tongue inside her, eliciting a subdued shudder that causes a small ripple to cross her ass.

Doomfist twists his tongue and licks at the fleshy walls of her insides, claiming every part of her with his saliva. He raises his hand to smack her again but remembers her silent warning and instead takes hold of her thigh and strokes it. He feels a drop of liquid, surprisingly warm considering her low body temperature, leak onto his chin. He retrieves his tongue from her asshole and lowers his shorts. His heavy cock slaps against her ass as it falls out of his trousers. It sits across the full length of her ass, the fat tip hovering over her lower back. She smirks and peeks over her shoulder, though when Doomfist, glances at her, she hides her curled lips, rolls her eyes, and turns away.

He taps his cock against her ass, then guides it down to her dripping pussy. He glides the tip in with ease, her snug passage lubricated well-enough to provide resistance without stopping him. She quivers as he slides deeper. He stretches the walls of her pussy more than she thought she could handle, though she hides any signs of enjoying him.

He nearly inserts the full length of his cock when she suddenly tenses and holds him in place. He gasps, unprepared.

“Enemies in my sights,” she says. She rests her finger over the trigger and prepares to fire.

“Is it time to infiltrate?” he asks.

“Not yet.” She shoots, the recoil pushing him deeper. Since his participation is not yet needed, he holds her waist and pumps his hips. He fucks her slowly so he doesn’t disturb her aim. She holds her breath before each shot, but she must shoot quickly as the cock plunging into her coaxes moans and sighs of pleasure.

Widowmaker fires five shots in quick succession and she hears the distant screams of panic mixing with the gentle slapping behind her. Doomfist pulls out and lifts her thighs onto his lap. He scoots closer and sits back on his heels, then penetrates her again while pressing her legs against his pelvis. He pounds her, his head clouded by ecstasy and no longer caring about the success of the mission. Widowmaker wants to protest the change in position as it makes it more difficult to shoot, but she doesn’t want the feeling to stop.

She takes a deep breath and pulls away from her gun, enjoying each thrust while she gathers the fortitude to take a few more shots. Her breasts dig into the roof, scraping against the concrete and stinging her hard nipples. She rolls her hips so his cock reaches the sensitive spots that have been neglected since she last laid with her late husband.

She collects herself and peaks through the scope and sees a single man rush into a building, briefcase in hand. He slams a steel door shut behind him. Her mind refocuses on the mission at hand.

“Now it is time to go,” she says, but Doomfist continues thrusting. She looks back to him, his hands locked onto her thighs and his eyes enthralled by the way her ass jiggles. She realizes he won’t let go so readily, for better or worse, so she plans around his unyielding lust. She takes her grappling hook, stored in a compartment of her rifle, and fires it at the roof of her target building. She launches through the air, Doomfist slipping out of her but still clutching her legs for dear life as he suddenly flies toward the ground.

She lands on her feet atop the roof of a single-story brick building, her suit around her ankles. Doomfist smacks into the wall of the building, the wetness running down Widowmaker’s leg coating his hands and weakening his grip. She figures it would be quicker to strip than to dress, so she kicks off the suit and joins Doomfist in the alley below wearing only her high-heels and infrasight headpiece. Doomfist comes to the same conclusion, removing his shorts and letting his erection stand proudly in the open air.

He comes to the metal door and blows it open with a single strike. They enter, ready for combat, but find everyone in the room laying in a pool of blood. Standing opposite them is Roadhog, pushing a cart filled with briefcases and small wooden crates to a rear entrance, the door there hanging by a single hinge. He points his gun to them, confused by both their presence and their nudity.

“What are you doing here?” Widowmaker asks, taking a cautious step forward.

“Earning a paycheck,” he says, standing firm. His fat chode twitches beneath his pants; Widowmaker’s body is coveted among those even vaguely familiar with Overwatch or Talon, and he is getting a free view of her full glory. He is less enthused about Doomfist, though he somewhat admires his large cock.

“We have a mission,” Doomfist says, “and we’ll see it completed.” He readies his hand cannon. Roadhog surveys them and considers his odds of winning the fight, or whether the loot is worth fighting over in the first place. He has no employer expecting him to complete this job; he heard through the grapevine of the potential value these things held, and he became interested. He notices the glistening streak crawling down Widowmaker’s legs and chuckles.

“Fine, you can take it. If you work for it,” he says, guiding his fat cock out of his trousers and shaking it at Widowmaker.

“You have a deal,” she says. “We lower our weapons, and we finish this quickly.” She hopes to avoid conflict at close range, if only because the noise would attract too much attention. Gunshots are normal in this part of the city where crime is rampant. Many secret underground deals are made here as few people dare walk through the area at night, and should a deal go awry as they often, no one would think twice about the ruckus and the dead bodies. However, a prolonged conflict would be considered a security risk and would attract police attention.

In unison, Widowmaker and Roadhog crouch and set their weapons on the ground, then kick them away. They knock against a pile of bodies and settle in the blood that gathers around them. Doomfist lowers his arm and approaches with Widowmaker, stepping over a few more dead men before reaching Roadhog at the only portion of clear tile in the room.

“I didn’t ask you,” Roadhog says to Doomfist.

“We have business to settle as well,” he says. Roadhog glances between Doomfist’s soaked erection and Widowmaker’s dripping pussy and laughs again.

“Just stay out of my way,” he says.

Widowmaker kneels in front of Roadhog and, without hesitation, takes his cock into her mouth, tracing the tip with her tongue and locking her lips over the shaft. Her face twists at the rancid scent of curdled dairy and unrestrained body odor that seeps from his fat folds. Doomfist stands beside her and slaps her cheek with his cock, dotting her face with precum. She releases Roadhog’s cock and takes Doomfist down to his base, coating him in slick saliva. She pulls him out and resumes working on Roadhog, jacking off Doomfist’s now lubricated cock with her free hand.

Though he smells and tastes disgusting, she hopes leaving him completely satisfied will prevent him from reneging on their deal. She digs his large testicles out through his zipper and cradles them as her lips enclose his tip, her tongue pressing against his urethra. Doomfist feels himself grow harder watching her service such a revolting man. He smacks her face with his hand, hoping to humiliate her further, though he earns no reaction. She focuses all her energy on the beast that sits in her mouth.

Doomfist rips her hand off his cock and, wanting to elicit some response, picks her up off the floor and bends her over. She stays locked to Roadhog as Doomfist manhandles her. Then, without restraint, he rams the full length of his cock into her pussy. Her eyes open wide and she gasps, which draws in more of Roadhog’s scent and makes her gag.

Doomfist smacks her ass as he plows into her. Roadhog, enjoying Doomfist’s aggression, grabs a handful of Widowmaker’s hair and shoves his cock down her throat. She twitches and gags. She presses into his stomach, which is more solid and tank-like than the mass of fluff she expected, and tries to free herself. Roadhog holds her steady and moves his hips. She realizes she’s powerless to stop his face-fucking and accepts it.

Doomfist grabs her thighs and lifts her legs off the ground, removing the last bit of agency that Widowmaker had, and the two men savor their Parisian spit-roast. Widowmaker has trouble breathing, from both the stench of Roadhog and the intensity of Doomfist’s pounding. Her eyes roll back into her head and her apathetic conditioning fades. In this moment, she feels like the slut she was before Talon took her in.

Roadhog reaches beneath her and grabs her breasts, stretching and pinching her nipples, which are already sore and scratched from the rough concrete on the previous roof. She moans, and he shudders as the vibration transfers to his cock. He feels his climax approaching and moves more intensely. Doomfist similarly recognizes the familiar twitching of his shaft and thrusts harder. The increased vigor signals the end to Widowmaker, and she sets out to magnify her own orgasm. She places one hand over her swollen clit and rubs furiously while the middle finger of her other hand fills her tight asshole. She screams against Roadhog’s mass and her legs quiver in Doomfist’s hands.

Doomfist shoots first, filling Widowmaker with hot cum that blasts hard and fast against her cervix. Roadhog follows and silences Widowmaker mid-scream, choking her with his thick jizz. She coughs and the ejaculate travels up her nasal cavity and explodes out of her nose. The men release her, and she falls to the ground. She lands hard, hands still preoccupied. Roadhog stows away his cock and balls and collects his gun.

“Reckon that’s a good deal,” he says. He marches through the broken back door. Doomfist looks to the haughty assassin that he has creampied and his catharsis quickly fades as he realizes the danger of brutally fucking a woman ready to kill better allies for lesser missteps. For the first time since his childhood, he feels a pang of fear in his gut that urges him to run away. He mumbles an apology, retrieves the cart of briefcases, and runs for the escape capsule parked behind a nearby building. He loads the cargo and takes off without her, knowing that if she’s even contemplating killing him it’s already too late.

Widowmaker lay face down on the ground, still fingering her asshole and rubbing her clit, the fresh cum leaking from her pussy and nose. The men left before she had an orgasm of her own, so she decided to finish the job. She pushes her chest into the ground and raises her ass into the air. Her body warms as her hips buck. She grits her teeth and growls, and the all-encompassing waves of orgasm crash against her entire nervous system. Drool spills out of her mouth and mixes with the splotches of cum on the floor.

She pants and rubs her hand over her sensitive pussy, collecting some of the cum that leaks from it. She shoves her fingers into her mouth and cleans them with her tongue. A smile crosses her face. She gets on all fours and laps up every puddle of cum around her, even wiping the streaks from her nose and tasting them.

She notices in her post-orgasm reverie that her skin, once a dark purple, appears much lighter. She places a hand over her breast and is surprised at the faint heat that warms her palm and the speed with which her heart beats. Her slutty recreation has reignited a portion of her humanity. Joy and happiness and excitement, long suppressed emotions she thought were lost, spark within her and prove to still exist. She’s still alive.


	5. Doomfist X Widowmaker X Roadhog - Return to Form, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker realizes the key to maintaining her humanity lay in sexual arousal. With her new emotions come a sudden resentment and disgust toward Talon.
> 
> This chapter contains: Exhibitionism, Public Nudity, Public Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

Widowmaker lay face down on the floor for a moment, the pooling blood stretching toward her. It encompasses her, and she rolls onto her back, her naked front stained red. She pants and looks over to her rifle nestled under the torso of an unknown man’s corpse. She stretches her arms and drags them through puddle around her. The blood has cooled somewhat since it first spilled, but compared to her generally frigid body, it is refreshing. She rubs her skin, tracing her curves with slick fingers. She savors the revived sensitivity and welcomes the return of joy into her mind.

She yearns to lay there forever, though she knows she must return to Talon headquarters before she is presumed dead or hunted down. The thought of Talon and its chokehold on her humanity frustrates her. She sits up and crawls to her gun. As she pulls it free from the static body, a hand locks onto her wrist. She looks to the face of a terrified man, dying and desperate. He pulls a piece of paper from his coat and hands it to her. She takes it and scans over it, ignoring the blood smears her fingers leave. The note demands that the man ensure the cargo is delivered safely to Talon operatives sent to infiltrate the base or else his family will be murdered.

He is too weak to speak, but his trembling lips pantomime a plea for help and a tear forms in his eye. She looks to the wounds on his chest; he is losing too much blood to be saved, though he must be in terrible agony.

“I cannot save you, but I will keep your family safe.” She kisses her blood-coated fingertips and presses them against his forehead. She raises her gun to his forehead and pulls the trigger to end his suffering. She pats him down, finds his wallet, and pulls out his ID to find his name and address. He lived in a safe neighborhood beyond the reach of the slums, a place not known for housing Talon agents.

She stands and surveys the room, searching for any other signs of life. All is still. She searches the bodies anyway, finding no other ID’s but noticing all the cash from their wallets missing. She exits to the alley and launches her grappling hook to the roof of the building. She collects her suit and puts it on, the blood on her body forming an adhesive that binds the form-fitting suit to her even more. She activates her infrasight and searches the area. Aside from the wandering gangs and terrified families that are typical in this neighborhood, she sees no sign of Doomfist. However, wandering through the back alleys, she sees the bloated form of Roadhog.

She realizes that Doomfist has ditched her and that Roadhog now swaggers through the city having killed an innocent man and earning the chance to face-fuck Talon’s deadliest assassin as a reward. The urge to kill creeps across her mind and she feels the subtle humanity that orgasm brought fading. Her skin darkens to its original purple as her emotions vanish save for the vengeance she craves against the man whose greed complicated her mission and ruined an innocent family.

She deploys the grappling hook and swings from building to building through the narrow urban alleys, running along one brick wall before jumping to the next. She catches up to Roadhog and pulls herself to an empty rooftop. She stares at him through her scope, ready to send a bullet through his skull, but hesitates. If she is going to kill him, she wants to watch fear set into his gloating face up close. She strips her suit, leaving it as she descends to the pathway behind him.

As her high-heels touch the ground, Roadhog knocks on a rotting wooden door at the back end of a three-story apartment. The door opens and he greets an unseen figure as he enters. The door slams shut behind him. Widowmaker activates her infra-sight and notices five other bodies in the room along with Roadhog. She sneaks up to the building and presses her ear against the door. She listens to Roadhog laugh and brag about what he did to Widowmaker, embellishing details to make it sound like he was in Doomfists’s position.

Widowmaker tires of his gloating and readies her rifle. She knocks on the door and the men inside gather their guns. She deactivates her headpiece, puts on her best fake smile, and waits for one of the smaller men to approach the door. She hides her gun behind her back with one hand. The other covers the front of her body, her upper arm pressing against one of her breasts and her hand hiding her pussy. The door creaks open.

“So sorry to bother,” she says with her most flirtatious voice, lowering her chin while looking up at the captivated men in the room, “but my partner has left and my clothes are missing. Would it be okay to stay here for tonight?” The men look at each other in disbelief of their incredible luck. They share a lecherous grin, and the man at the door looks her up and down.

“Course you can, but there’s a lodging fee, sheila,” he says as he rubs his crotch through his clothes.

“Not a problem,” she says with a shy glance at the outline of his cock.

The man before her beckons her in as he fishes his cock out of his trousers. Her smile drops. She kicks the door aside and unloads on the men in the room. They all fall dead with their hands in their pants, and she walks over to Roadhog’s body. She blasts a full clip into his head, obliterating his skull and splattering his brain matter across the walls. Her mood improves knowing at least one of the deaths in that room has been avenged. She opens his sleeveless denim jacket and finds his pockets stuffed with the money he stole from the men he killed. She gathers it and leaves the rank room.

She grapples back up to the rooftop to redress. However, as she prepares to slip on the suit, a breeze blows against her naked body and she realizes how much time she has casually spent strutting around in public completely nude. The thought makes her blush. Suddenly, her skin brightens to a lighter shade of purple beneath the glistening blood and the sexual thrill summons the ghost of emotions. She realizes that sexual arousal is the key to regaining her lost humanity.

She thinks for a moment on whether she would like to return to normal. With the shred of empathy that her faint horniness has summoned, she regrets the countless lives she has taken so freely and harshly. Under the direction of Talon she has become a monster, but with a sympathetic mind, she can protect others from the herself. Rather than putting her suit back on, she grabs each sleeve and holds it to form an improvised bag. She stows the money in it and throws it over her shoulder. She descends to the well-lit street, walking confidently in the buff.

She taps the side of her headpiece and calls Talon HQ, explaining that she was separated from Doomfist and would need an extraction. They relay that someone would be there in a matter of seconds and for her to sit tight. She ends the call and stands beneath a streetlamp, her gun resting on one shoulder and her suit on another. The blood coating her skin dries slowly from the steady breeze. She feels the gaze of several random onlookers in surrounding buildings, perhaps at one point curious about the gunfire moments before and now captivated by the beautiful woman standing naked in the streets.

Her nipples hardened and her pussy twitches. She smirks, and her skin lightened a shade further. Then, a small aircraft descends onto the street right in front of her. The door opens and a talon operative inside stares at her, slack-jawed. She strolls into the vehicle and sits in a chair opposite him. She closes her legs, sets her rifle in her lap, and stares out the window. The operative says nothing to the oblivious pilot except that she is on the vessel and they are ready for takeoff.

They ascend and launch northward to Talon’s base of operations in the city. The operative realizes that he has been staring at her and looks away, the blood covering her body reminding him to avoid bothering her. The flight would not last more than five minutes, though she believes every second of arousal enhances her humanity. She notices the frightened man avert his gaze and sets her rifle and suit in the seat beside her. The man watches her do this and catches a glimpse of her skin’s unusual pallor beneath the red sheen.

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s rude of me to… uh…” He trails off and cannot help but admire her beauty.

“I will forgive you,” she says, “if you touch me.” She spreads her legs, revealing her bare pussy to him. He laughs nervously, believing this to be a joke, but she remains stoic and stares directly into his eyes. The man’s heart flutters, and he quickly unlatches his seatbelt. He crosses the cabin with his eyes set on her perky breasts.

“Is the, um, blood… yours?” he says. She smiles and shakes her head. He swallows hard, reaches for her taut nipple, then stops himself. “I’m sorry, miss, I can’t… I’ve got a wife at home and…”

“Then watch me,” she says. The man nods and returns to his seat. He looks over her body while she stares deep into his eyes. She sees his erection bulge against his fly. She licks a finger and brings it down to her pussy. She circles her clit, and she sighs. The man fixates on her finger, following every rotation. Her other hand cups her breast and squeezes. She moans. Her back arches. She lifts her chin to show her vulnerable neck, keeping her gaze locked on the operative.

The man unconsciously rubs his erection over his pants, then catches himself and stops. He grips the arm rests of his chair to keep his hands under control. Widowmaker giggles sweetly at his determination. She reclines in her chair until only the top half of her ass rests on the cushion and her shoulders dig into the back. She closes her legs and crosses her ankles, rubbing her thighs together while she sucks on the finger that toyed with her clit. She brings her hand back down and slides the lubricated finger between her legs and works it into her pussy. She exhales as it penetrates her.

She pumps her wrist and fingers herself, rolling her belly as she pushes deeper. Her free hand raises above her and presses against the wall behind. Her legs tense at the approaching orgasm. Her thighs warm from the heat coming off her sopping wet pussy. She edges herself for the final minute of the flight, never allowing herself to cum so she would not lose the grasp on her humanity.

The aircraft lands, and she immediately sits up and collects her things as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you for the help,” she says and winks at the passenger, then opens the hatch and steps onto the helipad on the fiftieth floor of the Talon Organization’s HQ. The man watches the sway of her ass as she walks away.

Widowmaker walks up to the building, wondering how many men she will encounter when entering, and she freezes. While the excitement of exhibitionism restores her emotions, these renewed feelings bring embarrassment and humility that stop her from doing anything too bold. She decides to compromise between her warring desires to be seen and to not be seen. She collects the cash from the suit and pulls it on, though she lets the sleeves hang halfway down her arm, leaving her breasts exposed without making it too obvious that the slip is intentional. She stuffs the money into her front, pressing against her pubic mound.

She proceeds through a glass door and interrupts a small meeting. She scans the faces in the room; five high level Talon operatives huddle around a table with the schematics and prototypes of the devices before them, and a now fully-clothed Doomfist tries to blend with the crowd, hiding fear behind a stoic expression. Widowmaker approaches with a confident veneer, but internally her heart races.

The other men notice her breasts before face.

“Excellent work tonight,” the most senior of the men says, gawking at her voluptuous body. “We heard there were some difficulties and you stayed behind to hunt down a witness.”

“It was a simple mission, no problems that were too big. Could there have been someone helping us in secret, I wonder,” she says as offhanded as she can. The senior man laughs to himself.

“Can’t keep anything from you. We did have a man on the inside to help things go smoothly.” 

“I’m sorry to say he did not make it.” She feels remorse as she speaks, though she maintains the apathetic image they have come to expect.

“Not a problem; if this data doesn’t help as much as we want, we’ll go ahead and get rid of his family. Save them some money on funeral expenses.” He chuckles, and though Widowmakers yearns to pummel him, she keeps her face neutral.

Widowmaker walks up close to him and presses her breasts against his chest. He swallows hard as she sets her chin on his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “If we may make a private deal, I would like to keep the family alive to… observe them.” She takes his wrist and drags his hand up her crotch to the opening of her suit where the money peaks out. “I’m willing to buy their freedom, if you will accept.”

The man breathes deeply, nods his head, and she guides his fingers into her suit. As he pinches the small bundle of cash, his fingertips glides against her stiff clit. She gasps quietly. She brings his hand out and pulls off his shoulder. She looks him in the eye and says “You’re a kind man.” She plants a quick kiss on his lips and walks past him. He stands there for a moment, utterly stunned.

Her breasts bounce and jiggle as she walks, gaining the attention of the other men. She walks straight to Doomfist, though, the only man that refuses to stare at her breasts. He tries to hold eye contact, but drops his gaze to the floor as she comes closer.

“We were rather sloppy, I think,” she says. “Walk with me to the showers. I would like to talk.” He nods and they excuse themselves from the high-level meeting. They navigate through the halls, her bare breasts in plain view of dozens of coworkers. However, she says nothing during their trip.

When they reach the showers, she asks that he stick around. She strips in front of him, removing her boots and headpiece for the first time to reveal her small, unstained feet. She stands under the hot running water with the curtain open so Doomfist may watch her. The blood washes from her and her skin appears as white as it was before her indoctrination.

“I am not mad for what you did to my body,” she says. “I have learned something about myself because of it. However, abandoning a comrade is not acceptable. For that, you will need discipline.”

She steps out of the shower and, in one fluid motion, pulls a knife from her boot, jumps behind Doomfist, and holds the knife to his lower back.

“Go,” she says. He walks into the shower. He knows that, no matter his strength, he’s incapable of defeating Widowmaker, especially when she’s angry. He stands under the water. She slams the handle of her blade into his abdomen with surprising force, causing him to bend over. She lowers his trousers and sucks on three of her fingers.

Doomfist’s eyes widen. “What are you… no, please, wait.” Her eyes flicker, a remnant of her cold, cruel self flashing by for a moment, and she lines her fingers with his asshole. He closes his eyes and waits for the ordeal to end.


	6. Ana X Mercy - Standard Procedure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana wakes in the cot of a medical tent, her combat attire replaced with a loose gown and her arms covered in bandages. Enter Dr. Ziegler, who has cared for Ana's injuries and is eager to keep her busy until she heals.
> 
> This chapter contains: Lesbian Sex, 69, some Exhibitionism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

Ana stirs awake and finds herself in a small cot, the heat of the Moroccan sun creeping over her. She looks around; the white tent and row of beds tell her she is in the on-site infirmary, and the faint scent of an enticing perfume sharpens her senses. The tent flap opens to reveal Dr. Angela Ziegler dressed in a form-fitting buttoned-up lab coat over her torso that cuts off below her hips. A short tan skirt emerges underneath, only going about halfway down her thighs with black stockings covering the rest of her luxurious legs. Her hair is tied in a ponytail and she holds a clipboard in one hand. 

Their eyes lock and Dr. Ziegler smiles. “Good morning, Ms. Amari,” she says. 

“Happy to see you, Angela,” Ana says. She sets her weight on her elbows to sit up, but a sharp pain stops her, and she winces. She looks to the bandages covering her arms. “What’s happened?” 

“It seems an explosion sent some shrapnel into your arms and knocked you into a wall, leaving you unconscious. Luckily, most of the damage was to your arms and was not lethal, but you should still avoid moving them more than necessary,” Dr. Ziegler says. Ana looks down at the loose gown that stretches down to her knees.   
She realizes that beneath the gown she is naked.

“Thank you for all your work,” Ana says. “It will be difficult to shoot like this.”

“You will likely need a few day’s rest before returning to the battlefield,” Dr. Ziegler says, sitting at Ana’s bedside and setting her clipboard on her lap. 

“Has anyone else been injured?” Ana asks.

“There haven’t been many casualties thanks to your frontline healing. You’re the only one to have been brought to me so far,” she says. She places a hand on Ana’s thigh, the warmth of her palm passing through the thin fabric of the gown and spreading onto Ana’s skin. “It’s always nice teaming up with you; your hard work means I get to enjoy a few moments of peace.”

“You’ve always been so talented,” Ana says, “I almost feel guilty for taking away your patients.”

Dr. Ziegler smiles. “If I had more patients like you, I wouldn’t mind keeping busy.” Dr. Ziegler squeezes Ana lightly, batting her long, full eyelashes. “You’ve been an inspiration to me for a long time.”

Ana brings her legs together to contain the wetness that threatens to spill from her lips. She traps Dr. Ziegler between her thighs. “You’ve kept in shape very well,” Dr. Ziegler says, feeling the solid muscle that encases her fingers. “I’m quite impressed.”

Ana blushes and releases her. Dr. Ziegler removes her hand and sets it in her lap. Ana moves to sit up again, and another shot of pain to rushes through her. She winces and falls back. Dr. Ziegler moves up, sitting beside Ana’s waist. She leans over Ana’s chest and places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“What did I say about your arms?” she says with a teasing smirk. 

Ana laughs. “Sorry, I’m not used to keeping still.”

Dr. Ziegler moves her hand to the lay flat beside Ana’s face on the stiff pillow. She lowers herself until her lips are a few inches from Ana’s. Ana’s smile drops and she notices the deep redness in Dr. Ziegler’s cheeks. 

“Remember, if you need anything—no matter what it may be—you are to ask me. Is that clear?” The sweetness in Dr. Ziegler’s voice mixes with the warmth of her breath as it brushes across Ana’s face. She looks down to where Dr. Ziegler’s breasts lightly press into her own. She swallows hard, then looks back into her dark green eyes. 

“It’s been a while since I was brought to you, Dr. Ziegler,” Ana says. “Was it necessary to change my clothes while I was out?”

“You would’ve overheated if I didn’t. Plus, I had to check for additional injuries.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I promise no one else saw you.”

“Is this the protocol of non-combat medics?”

Dr. Ziegler giggles. “My protocol for you in particular has changed slightly since you saved me in Munich. Now, anything you request will be in line with my standard procedures.”

“Well, since I can’t do much with my hands, and I don’t have anyone else to keep me company, I suppose there is something—” Without waiting for Ana to finish her invitation, Dr. Ziegler locks her lips against Ana’s, swirling her tongue around the tip of her patient’s. Ana lets out a muffled exclamation at the sudden kiss, though she quickly relaxes and closes her eyes to focus on her doctor’s taste.

Saliva streams from Dr. Ziegler’s mouth and runs down Ana’s cheeks before finally settling in the matted black hair on which she lay. Ana’s lips, chapped from the dry desert air, moisten and soften from Dr. Ziegler’s wet and passionate touch. Despite the years since her last kiss, Ana finds it easy to reawaken her past vitality and meet Dr. Zeigler’s intensity. 

The hand Dr. Ziegler has placed beside Ana’s head slides over to Ana’s cheek and her thumb caresses her surprisingly taut skin. Her other hand tosses her clipboard aside and glides up Ana’s torso, coming between their meeting breasts. She pinches the stiff nipple poking through the gown and catches Ana’s stifled moan in her mouth. Having already seen her naked when changing her clothes, Dr. Ziegler yearns to strip Ana down yet again and have her mature body all to herself.

The hand at Ana’s cheek slides down her neck to her shoulder and catches on the gown as it continues down Ana’s bandaged arm. Dr. Ziegler lifts herself off Ana so the gown may lower and expose her breasts. Dr. Ziegler grins as she plants a kiss below Ana’s lips, then another on her neck, her clavicle, the top of her breast, and finally latching to her dark nipple. Ana purrs as the doctor fondles one breast and sucks on another. Dr. Ziegler raises from her seated position and throws a leg over Ana, straddling her as she brings herself down over Ana’s thighs. 

Dr. Ziegler’s tongue circles Ana’s areola, then her lips wrap around her nipple and the tip of her tongue toys with it. Ana watches Dr. Ziegler, who looks back at her and flashes a smile. Dr. Ziegler pinches Ana’s nipple between her teeth and pulls lightly. She releases and, for a moment, Ana stares down her lab coat at the cleavage that taunts her incapacitated arms. She bends her arms at the elbow, keeping her shoulders flat, and, finding the pain manageable, she brings her hands up to the full young breasts pressing into her abdomen.

Dr. Ziegler flinches at Ana’s unexpected touch. She unbuttons her lab coat and takes it off, tossing it onto the ground. Her breasts hang freely in the loose grip of a white blouse. Ana frees enough buttons to pull Dr. Ziegler’s firm breasts from her top, unsurprised at the absence of a bra. She kneads them and Dr. Ziegler sighs. 

Dr. Ziegler brings a leg in between Ana’s and rounds her back, which allows Ana more room to play with her hanging breasts. She raises her knee up against the gown and pushes it until she feels her thigh connect with Ana’s wet pussy. Ana moans as Dr. Ziegler rubs her leg up and down her soaking wet labia, the bottom of Dr.   
Ziegler’s skirt collecting stains. Dr. Ziegler drags her tongue from one nipple to the other and devotes her mouth to the slow ravishing of it’s stiff peak. 

Ana pinches and tweaks Dr. Ziegler’s pink nipples and pulls them to the side, then releases and watches them clap against each other as they swing back together. Dr. Ziegler lets out a short exclamation that turns to playful giggling. Ana lifts Dr. Ziegler’s breasts and marvels at their impressive weight. She squeezes and Dr. Ziegler moans with her lips pressed against Ana, sending the vibration through her sensitive skin. 

Ana grinds her hips against Dr. Ziegler’s thigh, the pattern of her stockings sending chills through Ana’s body. She moans, louder than before, and Dr. Ziegler lifts her head. “It’s best not to get too loud. You don’t want others interrupting your treatment,” she says. Ana hadn’t noticed before, but outside the tent is the faint chatter of off-duty soldiers, sharing stories and laughing as they await their marching orders. 

“If you can’t keep quiet, I’ll have to punish you,” Dr. Ziegler taunts. Ana nods. Dr. Ziegler pinches both of her nipples at that moment and she opens her mouth, ready to let loose a loud yelp. She catches herself and instead lets out a shaky sigh. “Good girl.”

Dr. Ziegler sets her hips against Ana’s thigh, her pussy soaking through her panties, and they each grind against the other’s leg. Dr. Ziegler’s skirt rides up until her round ass stalls its progress. She moves her hips and coos as she again licks Ana’s nipples. Ana cups Dr. Ziegler’s breasts and squeezes hard, her muscles contracting as her hips tremble. Dr. Ziegler notes her tensing body and moves faster. Ana shudders and keeps silent for as long as she can, but Dr. Ziegler proves too overwhelming and she yelps.

At the edge of orgasm, Ana feels Dr. Ziegler freeze and lift off her. Ana realizes how loud her cry was and gives Dr. Ziegler an apologetic look. Dr. Ziegler climbs off her, sitting on her ass between Ana’s splayed legs.

“And for that, you shall be punished,” Dr. Ziegler says. She reaches lifts her skirt to her waist and slides her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and stocking. She sheds them and tosses them to the side, and they land atop her lab coat. Ana stares at her young body, her large breasts hanging out of her blouse and her glistening pussy framed by her pale thighs. Dr. Ziegler crawls over Ana, turns around to survey the dark body that the gown does little to keep modest, and lowers her pussy onto Ana’s face.

The heat and wetness of Dr. Ziegler’s bare slit coats Ana’s lips, and she kisses it without a second thought. She feels Dr. Ziegler tense at this, her asshole puckering above Ana’s nose. Ana pushes her head into Dr. Ziegler and licks her labia while burying her nose in her asshole. Dr. Ziegler moans, and she kneads Ana’s breasts.

Ana sticks her tongue into Dr. Ziegler’s quivering opening and twirls it around to feel every subtle fold. Dr. Ziegler sighs. She runs her hands along Ana’s body as she lowers herself. She comes to Ana’s pussy, which appears appetizing as it pulses from a desperate need for attention. Dr. Ziegler parts Ana’s labia with both hands and wraps her lips around Ana’s clit. She flicks it with her tongue and feels Ana lurch beneath her. 

Ana attempts to raise her hands and grab onto Dr. Ziegler’s ass, but her injuries make the move too painful. She instead flexes at the elbow and rubs Dr. Ziegler’s sides through her cotton blouse. Her hips buck as Dr. Ziegler rubs her clit. She moans, and her quivering lips transfer the gentle vibration to Dr. Ziegler’s pussy. Ana’s tongue fucks Dr. Ziegler as intensely as she can manage. She nods her head to reach deep on each entrance and, as she lowers her chin on the exit, pushes her nose into Dr. Ziegler’s asshole. Dr. Ziegler rocks her hips in time with Ana’s rhythm.

Dr. Ziegler licks her middle finger and plunges it deep into Ana’s pussy. Ana quivers and digs her fingers into Dr. Ziegler’s sides. Dr. Ziegler moves quickly through Ana’s slick passage, feeling it flex and shudder. Dr. Ziegler brings her free hand down to her own clit and rubs it furiously, preparing to join Ana in explosive orgasm. 

Dr. Ziegler’s tongue ravishes the neglected veteran pussy. Ana convulses, her hands locked onto Dr. Ziegler’s waist and uncontrollable moans pouring from her preoccupied lips. Dr. Ziegler recognizes a familiar sloshing that comes from Ana’s pussy and she moves her hand away to encase her slit in her mouth. She brings both of her hands down to her own cunt and rubs it furiously.

Ana bucks and quivers until a shot of piss erupts out of her and forces its way down the awaiting throat of Dr. Ziegler. She squirts a few more times as Dr. Ziegler moans, her own hips quaking from the taste of Ana. She sucks down every bit of it, never allowing a single drop to touch the bed sheets. Ana pants as her muscles finally settle and relax. Dr. Ziegler pulls away and climbs off Ana, licking her lips. She stands at Ana’s bedside and gazes at her sweaty, exposed body. 

“Would you like to stay as you are, or shall I redress you?” Dr. Ziegler asks. 

“I may need you later, so I’ll stay like this for now.” Ana says with a coy grin. Dr. Ziegler returns the smile and reaches to fix the gown that now leaves only Ana’s abdomen covered. Ana stops her. “I would like to stay as I am, if you don’t mind.”

Dr. Ziegler laughs to herself and instead takes the blanket at the foot of her bed and throws it over Ana. “At least take this so you can rest.” She bends over and picks up her clothes, then stops and looks them over. “I suppose if you’ll keep your outfit as is, I should, too.” With her breasts still hanging from her blouse and her skirt lifted to display her ass and pussy, she throws on her lab coat and buttons it up. 

“I’ll leave these with you.” She sets her panties and stocking on Ana’s pillow. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours; I need to look over the troops while they’re off the battlefield. Get some rest,” Dr. Ziegler says.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Ana says. Dr. Ziegler bends over and kisses Ana’s soft lips one last time. She picks up her clipboard and walks to the exit, Ana enraptured by the sway of her hips. She opens the flaps and holds the clipboard in front of her crotch to block the view from the outside. She lifts the back of her coat and flashes her bare ass at Ana and winks. She lowers her coat and holds the clipboard against her chest as she takes her leave. 

Ana slides her hand to her pussy and fingers herself to the thought of Dr. Ziegler’s shameless exhibition, burying her nose in the stained panties sitting beside her. She cums before long, and closes her eyes to drift into a brief nap.


	7. Hanzo X Reaper - ... But I've Never Crossed the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo walks the earth in search of purpose, hoping to find some way of reconciling his criminal past and his "heroic" present. After a day of training in the middle of the forest, he catches a man in the shadows that has followed him for weeks.
> 
> This chapter contains: Gay Sex, Outdoor Sex, Anal Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

Hanzo wipes the sweat from his brow and examines the tree he has used as a training dummy for the last several hours. His travels around the world have brought him to a remote section of forest in southern Canada. He wanders with only his bow and a quiver of arrows. One day he spends hunting in the morning and training in the afternoon, then the next he crafts more arrows and continues his aimless journey. During his move from place to place he considers the choices he made while operating in his family’s criminal syndicate and the ways to heal the regrets that plague his spirit.

For hurting so many in the pursuit of money and power, he has excommunicated himself and resigned to a life of solitude until he can better understand himself. He wonders how he can reconcile the death and destruction he brought with the praise he gets for fighting the omnics—a “wandering hero,” as those people from the village called him. He’s spent many miles contemplating this title, ever since he left that place almost a month ago.

However, on these training days, he clears his mind and thinks of nothing beyond the physical movements he performs. Dusk brings an orange tint to the sky that signals the end of his training. He walks to a rocky cliff where a waterfall plunges into a calm pool. This leads to a narrow river, no more than twenty feet across, further downstream. 

Hanzo walks to the edge of the river and sets his bow and quiver down. He sheds his sweat-soaked robe and fundoshi, freeing his sizeable cock from its cloth restraints. He squats down and dips his clothes into the flowing water, washing them as best he can. He was in constant motion all day practicing his fighting techniques and performing bodyweight exercises, so the simple act of cleaning brought on the soreness that adrenaline had long subdued.

He drapes his clothes over a low-hanging tree branch, and as he does this, he hears the faint rustle of leaves. He stops and realizes that there is no breeze; his skin would be sensitive to such a thing considering wet it was. He retrieves his bow and quiver and casually walks to the basin. Should there be someone following him, he would like to be armed, but if he's simply heard a small animal heading home for the night, he wants to allow himself a chance to relax after his arduous workout.

He sets his weapon at the bank and treads into ankle deep water, then sits. The cool water sends goosebumps up his body and his cock twinges from the sudden immersion, but he keeps focused on the trees. He remains still and listens for further movement. Silence. Then, the rustling of cloth. He turns to watch his clothes get ripped from the branch they lay across. Hanzo jumps for his bow and readies an arrow. He points it to the tree that once held his clothes.

“Show yourself,” he shouts. A moment passes, and the thief does not appear. “Step out or be hunted!”

Finally, the shadows around the tree bend and a wispy figure emerges. Into the light walks Reaper holding Hanzo’s clothes in front of his waist.

“Stay there. Keep your hands up,” Hanzo says. Reaper keeps still, though he does not lift his hands. Hanzo inches toward him. “Drop my robe and put your hands up!” 

Reaper studies the nocked arrow pointed at his forehead and weighs his options. He sighs and releases Hanzo’s clothes, revealing his half-erect cock pulled through his leather pants. He lifts his hands above his head, and he searches for a place to look aside from Hanzo’s magnetic eyes and swaying shaft.

“What’s your business here?” Hanzo asks, now a few steps from Reaper. 

“Investigating.” Hanzo stops. A chill rattles him as he thinks to the last few days during which he felt an unidentifiable gaze tracking him from the trees. For him to discover he was indeed being watched and to catch his stalker after so long angers him. 

“You’ve followed me for some time, yes?” Hanzo says. Reaper nods. “How long?”

“Since Geratt Village.” Reaper drops his chin and settles his restless stare on the wet cloth at his feet. Hanzo straightens his back; he left Geratt four weeks ago, yet he hadn’t suspected someone watched him until a few days ago. Hanzo takes a final step closer, standing just beyond Reaper’s reach. 

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

“I don’t want to.” Reaper pushes his admission through gritted teeth. Hanzo loops behind Reaper, slackens the arrow and holds the bow to his side. He takes the guns that lay crossed on Reaper’s back, and as he comes around, he notices Reaper now stands fully erect. Hanzo tosses the guns in the river, then returns to Reaper with his bow at his side, his suspicion undercut by curiousity. 

“What is it you want?” Hanzo asks. Reaper looks to the river, as if the gentle current holds his answer. 

“I don’t know.” Reaper’s shoulders droop. “I feel something… strange.” Hanzo studies Reaper’s compromising position and considers what to do; the pervert before him has talent in keeping hidden and his only mistake came from getting careless, but none of this excuses his voyeurism, and his motives still are not clear. However, Hanzo senses no danger from Reaper’s bashful answers, and an unexpected fascination about the mysterious man has built in his mind.

“Strip,” Hanzo commands. “Join me, and we’ll talk.” 

Reaper looks up to Hanzo and, seeing the serious expression on his face, complies. He removes his heavy trench coat and leather outfit. Hanzo wonders how he could survive for so long in the middle of spring while dressed in such insulating clothing. Reaper’s body is large and muscular, much like Hanzo’s, though his broad shoulders and narrow waist give a V-taper more profound than Hanzo had seen before. His smooth pale skin is not colored by body hair and the lack of fat gives incredible definition of his body. His thighs appear strong enough to crush rocks between them. 

Reaper lowers his plain white boxers and the full glory of his cock comes into view. Its length and weight prevent it from standing upright, so it juts straight from his pubis. Reaper removes his mask; short black hair covers his head and a goatee wraps around his pink lips. His jawline is sharp, and his dark brown eyes keep locked on the wet clothes before him. Hanzo realizes that, rather than observing Reaper’s movements to catch signs of a surprise attack, he has simply watched Reaper and enjoyed his awkward body language. He flexes his thighs to suppress an erection. 

“Go there,” Hanzo says, pointing to the waterfall basin. Reaper walks ahead of Hanzo, allowing him to appraise the firm round ass that never jiggles at the force of Reaper’s stride. Reaper enters the water and shivers. Hanzo motions for him to sit, and he does so slowly, struggling to lower his sensitive scrotum into the chill water. Hanzo sets his bow and arrow on the bank and joins Reaper.

“I take it you were in the village,” Hanzo says, “when the omnics were attacking.”

“I was hired to take care of them. But you did first.” Reaper hugs his knees and rests his chin atop them. “No payment. No reward. But you did it.”

“Will you call me a hero as well?”

“I prefer ‘interesting.’ A real man.” Reaper squeezes his legs closer to his chest. “I’ve never seen someone fight like you on behalf of some strangers.”

“If you watch any man from a distance, he seems interesting or true in some way. When you know him, you realize interesting does not mean worthwhile, nor does true mean respectable.” Hanzo crosses his arms. Reaper releases his legs and meets Hanzo’s eyes for the first time. 

“Then prove me wrong,” Reaper says. He spreads his legs, revealing the tip of his cock peaking above the water’s surface. Hanzo leans forward and rests on all fours.

“I have made many mistakes,” he says as he inches closer, “and killed many that did not deserve to die.”

“Regret improves your future choices.”

“I’m a criminal. I’m an exile.”

“You can be more.”

Hanzo climbs between Reaper’s legs, his hands pushing against the pool’s bed right beside Reaper’s cock. His nose lightly touches the tip of Reaper’s, their eyes still connecting. They stay there for a moment, then a grin crosses Hanzo’s face.

“What were you going to do with my clothes?” he says. Reaper swallows hard, his cheeks burning hot enough for Hanzo to feel. 

“Hold them while...” Reaper cannot find a way to finish the sentence. He tilts his head down, finally breaking their mutual gaze and pressing his forehead against Hanzo’s. Hanzo grabs him by the chin and lifts his face back up. 

“You’re bold in the shadows, yet quiet up close,” Hanzo teases. “A true man must face things head on. Do you understand?” Reaper nods. “Let’s see if I can make a man out of you.”

He kisses him. It’s a surprise to Reaper, but he nearly faints from the immediate surge of dopamine to his brain. He brings his hands up and places them on Hanzo’s cheeks. They twirl their tongues around each other’s. Hanzo no longer fights the rush of blood to his cock.

Hanzo presses against Reaper’s firm pecs, his hands slick from the water. He massages Reaper’s chest, brushing his palms over his hard, sensitive nipples. Being alone has left him to meditate on his shortcomings and see himself as the sum of his failures. However, to have someone seek him out for perceived value he has yet to understand fills him with joy, even if his admirer a cowardly pervert. 

He brings his hands down to Reaper’s stiff pale shaft and strokes it slowly. Reaper moans. His life was all about passionless killing for a profit, but since watching a stranger risk his life so selflessly for a remote and unimportant village without expectation of reward, he’s considered a new purpose, one where he embraces the bidding of his suppressed passions. He wants to hold onto this feeling.

Hanzo pumps Reaper’s long cock, rotating his wrist as he works up the shaft and twisting back as he goes down. His other hand fondles Reaper’s balls, occasionally sending a probing finger to rub against his asshole. Reaper breathes faster against Hanzo’s lips, and Hanzo releases Reaper’s cock, denying the approaching orgasm.  
He sits back onto his heels, then walks on his knees back to shore, guiding Reaper by his cock. 

Hanzo lays in the grass, spits on his hand, and lubricates his cock with the warm saliva. 

“A true man trusts and respects his partners. Do you have this for me?” Hanzo asks. Reaper nods excitedly, the hint of a smile on his face. Hanzo guides Reaper down the length of his shaft. Reaper moans deeply, his normally gruff and intimidating voice now so unassuming and pure.

Hanzo thrusts as Reaper bounces atop him. Reaper places his hands on Hanzo’s chest and feels the steady beat of his heart. Hanzo holds on to Reaper’s ass with one hand, spanking it every now and then. He spits into his other and furiously strokes Reaper’s cock. 

The two slam each other, their tough bodies becoming weak from the unbridled thrill of the other’s touch. Hanzo’s authoritative tone match intensity with which he pumps his hips against Reaper’s ass. Reaper's assiduous handling of Hanzo’s cock belie his stern persona. When finally the force of an orgasm obscures Reaper’s vision and sends his body into an uncontrollable fit, the display brings Hanzo over the edge into his own climax. Hanzo fills Reaper while Reaper shoots cum across Hanzo’s torso, even landing a shot against Hanzo’s chin that sticks to his beard. 

Hanzo laughs, runs his hand through Reaper’s streaks of cum, and tastes it. Reaper collapses on top of him. Hanzo runs his hand through Reaper’s hair and they lay  
panting while the sun sets. When darkness falls, Hanzo helps Reaper to his feet and guides him by the hand back into the basin. Reaper washes the cum off Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo wraps an arm around Reaper, and Reaper lays against Hanzo. He sighs, embracing the warmth of Hanzo’s body that makes the frigid water tolerable.

“I believe we are both closer to true men now,” Hanzo says as he stares up at the stars.


	8. Sombra X Pharah - Humiliation Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharah gains some attention after taking care of a few armed criminals and destroying a building in Dorado. Sombra, resenting her popularity, devises a plan to give Pharah all the attention she deserves. The results are... mixed.
> 
> This chapter contains: Wetting, some Humiliation, Exhibitionism, Lesbian Sex, Public Sex, Fingering, Squirting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

A crumbling shop billows black smoke over the Dorado coastline, and a crowd gathers to investigate the explosions they’d heard a moment before. Pharah stands between the masses and the charred building, directing civilians back to their homes. She had chased a few Talon insurgents into a two-story corner shop slated for demolition and hoped to settle things without blasting them, though when they took aim with concealed blasters, she had to use necessary force to subdue them. 

“This area may still be dangerous,” she says to the onlookers. “Please evacuate immediately.” The group stares at her stern, beautiful face and the wreckage behind her and feel more wonder than concern. A chorus of voices overlap as they ask for her autograph or a picture. She hadn’t realized she was so popular outside of Giza. She keeps a straight face, though inside she revels in their cheers. Her demands to clear the area seem gentler and less urgent. A few police officers try to break up the crowd in earnest.

Some disperse while others step back and continue calling at a greater distance. Sombra stands in the back of the crowd, annoyed at Pharah’s popularity; Sombra lives in the city and almost never gets acclaim, even when she does something good without blowing up a building. She could tell Pharah enjoyed the attention. If she wanted all eyes on her, Sombra would make sure that’s what she would get. 

She crosses the police tape without a second thought and marches straight for Pharah. The policemen, well aware of her by this point, make no attempt to stop her. Pharah watches her approach and waves half-heartedly. She’s worked with Sombra many times before, and her disregard for norms and policy bothered Pharah.

“How you been?” Sombra says, laying a hand on Pharah’s shoulder. She discretely activates her cybernetic glove and hacks into Pharah’s suit. 

“Alright, I suppose,” Pharah says, a little put off by Sombra’s devious smirk. “I don’t have much time to talk.”

“What’re you gonna do? Go back to base? File some paper work?” Sombra says. “You can do that later. I wanna catch up with mi amiga for a while.”

“Maybe later.” Pharah turns to a passing police officer and flags him down. “Please make sure the streets are closed so no one else will interrupt our work.” The officer nods and relays Pharah’s request to a few others.

“Look at you, taking charge. You need to relax a little. Let loose.” At this, Pharah’s suit deactivates and falls off her. Pharah stands in only a black bra and white panties, her muscular body on display for the remnants of the crowd to ogle. Some policemen sneak glances as they try to divide the crowd. Sombra snaps pictures with her phone. 

Sombra expects Pharah to be embarrassed, but she’s unfazed. People rush back to the scene when they notice Pharah and pull out their phones to take pictures. They call for her to strike a pose or heckle her to strip. The crowd control officers redirect them, the stubborn onlookers frustrating them. Pharah’s popularity is presenting more problems to their efforts than they had expected. 

A lieutenant comes up to Pharah. “Thank you for stopping the suspects,” he says, his cheeks red from Pharah’s casual display of beauty. “But, the help of Overwatch isn’t needed. We can take it from here.” 

Pharah flashes a smile as the uproarious bystanders beg for her attention. She hears the approaching fire truck’s sirens wail, and she realizes she has little else to do here.

“I’ll be gone in a moment. My suit looks like it… malfunctioned,” she says while side-eyeing Sombra, “so please hold on to it while I talk with my friend about possible bugs in the system.” The lieutenant nods. Pharah casually picks up her breast plate and retrieves her phone. She passes the armor to the lieutenant, then takes hold of Sombra’s wrist and drags her away. The lieutenant nearly drops the breast plate, surprised by its weight.

They walk around the building and enter a the shadows of a narrow alley formed by the smoldering shop’s intact rear wall and another shop’s unscathed side wall. Pharah grips the waistband of Sombra’s panties and hikes it up, giving Sombra a wedgie harsher than any she’d had before. 

“You don’t need to be a brat,” Pharah says. Sombra bites her lip, her pants digging into her ass and crushing her pussy. 

“Fareeha, amiga, I didn’t mean it. You’re just so pretty, and all those people knew it. I thought we could enjoy—” Pharah pulls higher, and Sombra yelps, her toes now barely touching the ground. “Alright, I’m sorry! Please, let go!”

“You don’t think I’ve learned how to deal with you?” Pharah says as the hand holding her phone slips under Sombra’s armpit. “After everything I’ve seen you pull, I know better than to accept ‘sorry.’” She tickles Sombra, who laughs uncontrollably, struggling to broker for mercy.

“Wait! Wait! Please!” She loses control of her bladder, and piss splashes against her pants’ stretched fabric. Some streaks down her leg and fills her shoes while the rest seeps through her bottoms and cascades into a small puddle below her. Tears form in Sombra’s eyes, both from the pain and the humiliation of pissing herself. When she finishes, Pharah drops her and takes a picture.

“Don’t mess with me again, or I’ll post this online,” she says. She walks past Sombra and heads for the sidewalk. Sombra grits her teeth and watches Pharah’s large firm ass jiggle as she leaves. Sombra grins and she settles on a new plan.

Pharah steps back into the light, and Sombra jumps to her feet. She unhooks Pharah’s bra, yanking it off as she hacks her phone. Pharah reaches for her, but she jumps away and vanishes. Pharah pulls back into the alley and covers her breasts, awash with embarrassment. She hears the firetruck park around front and men shouting commands, some to fellow emergency personnel and others to the remaining onlookers. 

She wakes her phone’s screen. It won’t unlock, nor allow her to make emergency calls, so she has no way of using it to get help. And if she tries to run to the front of the building and retrieve her suit, she’ll be exposed to several police officers and bystanders with cameras. Standing before them in her underwear is tolerable but showing anymore skin than that is less than ideal.

The firemen will go through the building and, if she hugs the wall, they may not see her through the windows. She decides to open a window and call for someone to bring her suit. She slides one open, belonging to an empty office, and listens for footsteps nearby. She hears broken glass crunch on the other side of the far wall and calls out. A muffled response comes back to her.

“Come to the back office,” she yells. The office door rattles but doesn’t open. Pharah presses her back to the wall, keeping just out of sight while a fireman attempts to kick the door down. He succeeds, but before Pharah can speak, Sombra appears. She grabs Pharah’s panties and rips them down to her ankles, then pulls them hard and trips Pharah. She slides them over Pharah’s small feet and pulls out her phone, snapping a few pictures before Pharah can cover herself.

“Later, cutie,” Sombra says. She disappears, leaving Pharah naked on the ground.

“Is anyone in here?” the fireman asks from the office. Pharah remains seated below the window.

“It’s Pharah. I need you to tell the lieutenant that I need my suit brought to this office,” she says. She hears the fireman’s footsteps approach the window. “Don’t look out here! Do as I say.” She looks up and sees the fireman’s head already leaning over the windowsill and staring at her. She brings her legs up, hugging her knees and crossing her ankles. She glares at the man. 

“I’ll let him know,” he says, and he walks out the room. Pharah sighs and drops her head. Her cheeks burn, though she also feels her stomach flutter. She curls her toes and suppresses a smile. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand. She checks it, already knowing who it would be. The message opens as soon as Pharah presses a button. A selfie from Sombra fills her screen. She sits at an outdoor café holding Pharah’s underwear in her mouth. A message typed beneath the image says: “I’m at Guerrero’s at the end of the street. Strut down the middle of the road to me, slow and confident, and I’ll delete all the pictures. Play any games, and I’ll plaster them everywhere. No clothes allowed! Nos vemos, sweetie!”

Pharah takes a deep breath. Walking in the open would be a gamble; if anyone else saw her, they wouldn’t hesitate to take their own pictures. One fireman already saw her position, and he’ll tell the lieutenant and likely a few buddies. Her nudity’s won’t stay a secret long, and someone may seek her out. However, her position at Overwatch could give her leverage that would discourage anyone from sharing such photos. And if she doesn’t walk at all, her photos are guaranteed to go public. 

She decides to walk and feels her nipples stiffen and dig into her thick thighs. Though the situation is embarrassing, her body feels hot. She somehow looks forward to flaunting her toned, tight figure in public. She climbs to her feet, brushing off the dirt and small rocks that cling to her ass, and walks to the alley’s entrance. To her right, the firetruck blocks the road, preventing any civilians from seeing the runway Pharah will soon walk down. Emergency personnel could catch her, though most seem occupied sorting the wreckage and controlling the situation. To her left, small abandoned and dilapidated shops line the street, leading to a vacant café. 

Pharah collects herself, trying to calm her shaking knees. She steps into the open and crosses to the center of the street. She turns and faces Sombra, sitting about a hundred feet ahead. She stands still for a moment, basking in the sun and showing Sombra her resolve. From a distance, her bluff succeeds as Sombra doesn’t notice her nervous jitters. Pharah pushes out her chest and lifts her chin, a wry smirk forming as she takes her first step.

Her firm tits bounce in rhythm with her stride and her hips sway like a metronome. The bright Mexico sun gives her muscular body incredible definition. Her abs appear more solid and better constructed than a brick wall. Her dark nipples stand erect as her smooth brown skin glistens in the light of midday. Sombra still holds Pharah’s underwear in her mouth, and as she watches her move with unexpected poise, her cool damp panties have a renewed warmth. 

The thrill of exhibition makes Pharah’s mind spin. A glistening trail spills down her thighs. 

Sombra applauds as Pharah comes toward her. She lets the underwear fall from her mouth as she praises. “Fabulosa! Great performance! I hope we’ve all learned a lesson about…” Sombra trails off as Pharah continues forward, eyes locked onto hers and showing no signs of stopping. “Hey, I get it, you win. Let’s all calm down.”

Sombra flinches, expecting some violent retribution. Instead, Pharah straddles her and sits in her lap, wrapping her arms around Sombra’s shoulders. Pharah tosses her phone onto the plastic table beside them. Sombra looks back to her, confused. Pharah smiles.

“That was pretty fun, wasn’t it?” Pharah says. Her breathing is fast. She licks her lips and brings her face an inch from Sombra’s. Her bare breasts press against Sombra’s thin nylon jacket, through which her nipples poke. Sombra takes a shaky breath.

“Yeah. It was.”

“This place is empty, too?”

“All the businesses around here are closed down.” Sombra, adjusting to Pharah’s mood, removes her gloves and tosses them aside. She grabs Pharah’s taut ass.

“Good,” Pharah says, and she presses her lips against Sombra’s. They kiss deeply, their arousal turning to animalistic lust. Their tongues bat and twirl around each other. The saliva drips from their mouths, spilling onto Pharah’s tits. Sombra brings one hand around and rubs her fingers into the sweat and drool collecting in Pharah’s cleavage.

She runs her hand over Pharah’s breast, squeezing it before moving down her solid abs and brushing through her thick bush. She comes to Pharah’s pussy and rubs her swollen clit. Pharah moans against Sombra’s lips. Pharah pulls away and brings two fingers up to Sombra’s mouth. Sombra wraps her lips around them and coats them in warm spit.

Pharah slides her fingers into Sombra’s soaked panties and plunges them deep into her pussy. Sombra shudders and rubs faster against Pharah’s clit. They toy with each other’s sopping cunts in the middle of the public plaza. The sun burns Pharah’s back. What little breeze finds them sends a reminder of their vulnerable position, which turns them on even more.

They hear the firetruck, the sole barrier between themselves and an observant crowd, squeal as its brakes release. Pharah turns her head and sees it creep forward. She looks back to Sombra, who watches the truck move with wide eyes. The rising stakes excite Pharah and she fingers the anxious Sombra faster. Sombra bucks at the intensity, her mind torn from the truck back to her approaching orgasm. 

Pharah leans back and gazes at her own body tensing to Somba’s touch and at Sombra writhing beneath her. She glances over her shoulder; the firetruck has left, and the street is now completely exposed. A group of police officers mingle as they cross the unobstructed road, unaware of the two women fucking each other behind their backs. 

After seeing them, Pharah cannot hold back. The risk of getting caught pushes her over the edge and her body flexes. She quakes and braces herself against Sombra. She squeezes Sombra’s breast while her mind fogs over with pleasure. She buries her head on Sombra’s shoulder, her arm still rapidly pumping her fingers into Sombra’s tight pussy. Pharah grunts as she bites Sombra’s jacket.

Sombra’s eyes roll to the back of her head. The walls of her pussy pulse and, unable to handle Pharah’s rough fingering, her orgasm removes all control over her body. She groans and the warm cum dripping from her pussy mixes with violent squirts of piss that cover Pharah’s hand and saturate Sombra’s panties. She sits back, letting her body go limp. She gushes hard, and droplets splash off Pharah’s wrist and onto Sombra’s top. Neither woman minds the mess. 

Sombra’s squirting turns to a steady, weak stream, then ends. The two hold each other and catch their breath. Pharah regains the strength in her legs and gets to her feet. She and Sombra share a look, then laugh at the absurdity of their situation. 

Sombra wipes the wetness from her hands and puts on her gloves. She overrides the hacks placed on Pharah’s phone. Pharah unlocks it and opens the picture of a dismayed and piss-soaked Sombra. She deletes it, then watches Sombra do the same with her compromising nudes.

“Next time you want attention, don’t wreck a building. Just call me,” Sombra says. 

“Will do,” Pharah says. She picks up her underwear, but before she puts them on, she notices the massive stains that now coat Sombra’s pants. She sighs and offers her panties to Sombra. “It’ll be uncomfortable walking around like that. Wear this until you can get changed.”

Sombra takes it, beaming at Pharah’s gesture. She sheds her damp clothes and slides on Pharah’s panties. “They’re a little big on me,” she says.

“Well, I’m a little bigger than you,” Pharah says, and she slaps her ass to accentuate the point. Sombra giggles. They walk down the street together, hand in hand, Pharah dressed only in her bra and Sombra carrying her wet clothes. As they near the charred building, a police officer comes into view and turns in their direction. They dash into the alley and up to the office window Pharah had opened. 

Her combat suit lay scattered on the floor, the lieutenant having obliged to Pharah’s request. Sombra returns the suit’s system to normal and Pharah dresses, unaccustomed to the cold metal against her bare slit.

“I hope I’ll see you later,” Sombra says. 

“Yeah, definitely.” They share a kiss and Sombra runs off. Pharah walks through the building and exits to the front lawn where a group of police officers and firemen stop their hushed conversation. The civilian crowds have been successfully cleared, no doubt because of Pharah’s absence.

“Did you have some troubles, Ms. Pharah?” the lieutenant asks as he breaks from the group. 

“No sir, none at all.”


	9. Brigitte X Zarya X Reinhardt - Pumping Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brigitte catches sight of Reinhardt and Zarya doing work in the gym and decides to leave them be, too anxious and intimidated to properly greet them. A wardrobe malfunction later forces Brigitte back to the locker room earlier than she'd hoped. However, this retreat turns out to be pretty fortuitous.
> 
> This chapter contains: Lesbians, MFF Threesome, Muscles in general, Thighs in particular <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No overarching canon or singular alternate universe exists in this anthology. Each chapter presents an independent story unless otherwise noted.

Brigitte X Zarya X Reinhardt – Pumping Iron

Brigitte throws herself under the metal bar and straightens her back. She pushes her shoulder blades together and digs the muscular shelf they form into the cold bar. She lifts it off the pegs of the squat rack, takes a step back, and dips down. Her new workout shorts ride up her butt, the material stiff and inflexible because she hasn’t yet broken the polyester bottoms in. She makes a note to wear looser clothing on leg day. She had hoped to stretch the shorts out today, though she now realizes that this was a mistake. She powers through her set, nailing five clean reps before racking the bar. Sweat collects along the collar of her tight gray t-shirt.

She looks in the mirror ahead of her—not the vacant stare she had when lifting the weight, but a mindful survey of her surroundings—and the swift movement on the bench behind her catches her attention. She usually gets into a meditative state during workouts and pays no attention to others, but this display broke her trance. Reinhardt tosses no less than 500 pounds over his massive chest like it’s nothing, and above him stands Zarya, spotting him while chatting nonchalantly. Brigitte blushes, longing and jealousy blending as she stares.

She pulls out an earbud and the Bjork track she was listening to is replaced with the clatter of metal, the grunts of a man whose glory days seem never to have ended, and Zarya’s voice contemplating whether one should deadlift on back day or leg day. Brigitte points her ear toward her and listens discretely; she plans on doing deadlifts after her squats and wants to know what someone as incredible as Zarya has to say.

“Is a lot of weight if you’re doing it right, and you lift so much on legs day. I understand to spread it out a little, but—” Reinhardt racks his weight with a thunderous crash and cuts off Zarya’s musings. As Reinhardt sits up, Brigitte looks away and puts her earbud back in. She has no problem talking to Reinhardt, but Zarya’s too intimidating. 

Reinhardt notices her, though, and waves her down. She sees him in the mirror and gives a friendly wave in return. She makes eye contact with Zarya and smiles. Zarya studies the three plates loaded on Brigitte’s bar, then smiles and gives an acknowledging. Brigitte nods back as her heart careens through her chest. Reihnardt and Zarya rack their weights and wipe down the bench. They cross the gym for their next exercise, mixing yet never disappearing among the early morning crowd. 

Brigitte bounces on her heels, excited to have earned Zarya’s recognition. She flies through the rest of her sets with ease, ignoring the constant wedgies that coddle her tight butt. She finishes and heads to the deadlift platform in a lightly-travelled corner of the gym; though this is an Overwatch-affiliated facility, the 0600 rush consists of desk-jockeys wanting to do some light cardio before their eight-hour stint completing spreadsheets. Not many of them deadlift, so Brigitte has the platform all to herself.   
She cruises through her warm up and loads her working weight, pushing for a new personal best. She gets in position, keeping her back straight and a slight bend in her knees. She wraps her lifting straps around the bar, grips it tight, and takes a deep breath. She pushes her hips forward as she lifts, and the weight comes up with ease. She feels her range of motion suddenly improve and she plows through her remaining reps. 

She takes a moment to recuperate from the exertion, then pumps her fists to celebrate her new record. She sets the bar on a jack and bends over to remove the plates. She notices a pink flash in the mirror behind her and peaks over her shoulder. She gasps and covers her ass; her shorts had torn straight down the middle, which helped her move during the lift, but also exposed her sweat-coated pink panties. She steps off the platform and, gym etiquette be damned, decides to hoof it back to the locker room without stripping the weights. 

She cuts through the rows of treadmills, doing her best to discretely hide the tear. She catches a few people watch her in the mirror—maybe they’re looking at the big wet spot over her ass crack or the bright pink panties that stand out against her black shorts, or maybe they’re on autopilot and their brains latch onto whatever unexpected movement crosses their field of vision. She forces herself to believe the last explanation. She bursts into the locker room, her mind spinning from exhaustion and embarrassment. She sits on the wooden bench centered between two rows of lockers and pulls her gym bag from a bottom compartment. She searches through it for her backup clothes. 

A gentle tap on her shoulder makes her jump. She rips out a headphone and turns around. “Did not mean to scare you. Only wanted to say your pants are broken,” Zarya says with a playful smile. Normally a head taller when toe-to-toe, she towers over Brigitte in her hunched position. Her breasts, almost the size of Brigitte’s head, rise and fall inches from Brigitte’s face as she pants lightly. Brigitte lets out a shaky breath, her hands seizing her damp ponytail and stroking it.

“Yeah, I—they’re new, ya know? And like, they—yeah, I don’t know.” 

“Do you need to borrow?”

“Oh, no, no, please! I’m about to get outta here anyways, so it’s, like, I’m good—thank you, though!”

“Okay.” Without turning around, Zarya sheds her shirt and tosses it into an open locker behind her. “Would you like to borrow soap, then?” Brigitte nearly collapses. She cannot suppress a wide smile. She nods enthusiastically and stands, dropping her shorts and panties and kicking them back into her locker.

She waits to remove her top until after she watches Zarya’s massive tits drop out her sports bra and clap against her ribs. Brigitte could almost feel a cloud of steam release once the damp cloth was removed. Zarya turns away from Brigitte to drop her pants, giving Brigitte a side view of her thick thighs and round, solid ass. Zarya places her wet clothes into her bag and grabs a bar of soap, then looks to Brigitte.

Their eyes lock, and Brigitte realizes how long she’s been staring. Zarya says nothing, only smiles with her hands on her hips, her statuesque features on full display. Brigitte sheds her shirt and lets it fall to her feet. She notices Zarya’s eyes still set on her as she crosses her forearms and pinches the bottom of her sports bra. She lifts it, the sweat making the process more difficult and less sexy than she had anticipated. Her perky tits finally bounce out, and she stacks the bra atop her shirt and kicks it aside. She scans Zarya’s body, passing over her muscular legs, chiseled abs, heavy tits, and the dark green eyes shamelessly peering at Brigitte’s hard nipples. Zarya glances to the ground.

“Are you going to pack those?” she says, pointing to the clothes carelessly strewn along the tile floor. Brigitte looks down at them, laughs bashfully, and turns around to shove them into her bag. She realizes that bending over like this gives a full, unobstructed view of her asshole. She wonders if Zarya is staring at her. Her cheeks burn. She jumps up and twirls around, her tits swaying as she comes to a sudden stop. She locks her wrists behind her back and shoots Zarya her most innocent expression. She stumbles, light-headed from the sudden rise. Zarya thrusts a hand under Brigitte’s armpit, keeping her steady while copping a good feel of her soft breast.

“Shall we go?” Zarya says as she slowly withdraws her hand, dragging her fingertips against Brigitte’s firm chest. Brigitte squeaks out an affirmation and they continue down the row of lockers. Once the bench no longer separates them, Zarya throws an arm over Brigitte’s shoulder and pulls her close. Brigitte locks her hands in front of her pussy, not wanting to advertise her wetness to the other women in the room. They head to the communal showers at the room’s far end. The entering office workers ignore them, changing into workout gear and rushing to find an unoccupied machine in the weight room. This indifference makes Brigitte feel like they have some kind of privacy.

Zarya releases Brigitte and walks to the wall lined with showerheads. She twists a knob and warm water shoots onto the tiled floor. She rinses herself and rubs the bar of soap first against her breasts, sliding it around and under and in between them, then moves to her abdomen. The water crashes against her back as her hands move about her glistening skin. She drags the soap over her bulging quadriceps, bends at the waist, and slides down the length of her calves before rising again. She looks up to Brigitte and smiles. 

“Are you coming?” Zarya says nonchalantly as the bar of soap brushes stiff nipple en route to her shoulder. Brigitte catches herself staring again and snaps out of it. She removes her hair tie and comes up beside Zarya, sharing the stream of water without considering the many other available faucets. Zarya looks at her, amused. “Very forward. I like that.”

Brigitte realizes her mistake and steps back. Before she can apologize, Zarya offers her the bar of soap. “Do you mind scrubbing my back, please?” she says. Brigitte nods, swallows hard, and takes the soap. Zarya turns and Brigitte admires the perfect wall of muscle before her. She watches the water streak down from her broad shoulders to round ass. Zarya closes her eyes, awaiting Brigitte’s touch as the warm shower batters her chest. 

Brigitte holds the soap between her palm and Zarya’s back, letting her fingers hang off and caress Zarya’s skin. She rubs between Zarya’s shoulder blades in small circles, then widens her motion to cover the full expanse of her upper back. Her other hand reaches for Zarya’s tempting ass, but retracts, unsure whether Zarya would mind. She instead cups her own breast and massages it gently. She drags her fingers down Zarya’s spin as she moves to her middle back. She feels Zarya shiver. 

“I saw you lifting,” Zarya says. “You’re strong.” Brigitte giggles, too excited to speak. She encourages herself to act more aggressively and sets her free hand on Zarya’s waist. Zarya looks over her shoulder, a smile on her face. Brigitte smiles back. She lowers her soap arc until she glides over the top of Zarya’s ass. Her other hand follows and squeezes Zarya’s glutes, amazed at how firm they are. 

“Be sure to clean it good,” Zarya says. Brigitte stops and takes a step back. She lathers her hands and tits with an abundance of soap. Then, she pushes her body against Zarya’s, her hands exploring Zarya’s ass while her tits drag across her back. Zarya sighs. Brigitte presses her face into Zarya and enjoys her smooth skin. The soap slips from her hand and slides away. She slowly feels her way to Zarya’s front, massaging the tuft of pink hair on her pubic mound. 

As Brigitte slides an anxious finger down Zarya’s lips, the water turns from warm to frigid and both women jump out of its range. Zarya shuts it off and huffs.

“Stupid Reinhardt. When men’s shower go on, women’s loses hot water.” Zarya picks up the bar of soap. “Come, we’ll use men’s showers.” She grabs Brigitte by the wrist.

“The men’s—hold on a sec!” Zarya drags Brigitte to a door tucked in the room’s furthest corner. A sign warns that an alarm will sound if the door is opened. Zarya heads straight for it.

“Wait, the alarm—” Zarya flings the door open before Brigitte can finish and they enter a narrow maintenance hall, wide enough for one person with narrow pipes covering the cinder block wall. 

“There is no alarm,” Zarya says, guiding Brigitte through the hall, her bare body just able to fit without touching the walls. “Lock is broken and repairmen are too lazy to replace. Same with the men’s room. Only three people know this: Reinhardt, me, and you.”

As much as she wants to, Brigitte cannot enjoy their shared secret as the door to the men’s room approaches. “Wait, there’ll be guys in there!” she says.

“Probably only Reinhardt. He scares others off. Likes his privacy. He won’t mind if we join him. I do it all the time when we train together.” Zarya presses Brigitte against her, pulling Brigitte’s head into her cleavage and squeezing her ass. She opens the door, which blocks the entire hallway as it swings, and she rushes in. 

Brigitte recoils at the foul musk in the air, several men’s lingering body odors mix under an overwhelming blanket of spray-on deodorant. She digs her nose into Zarya’s breast to cleanse her palate. She hears water pattering against the floor ahead and notices Reinhardt washing happily in an open shower that mirrors the one in the women’s room. 

“Reinhardt. We were going to wash,” Zarya says. Reinhardt looks over to the naked women approaching him and theatrically covers himself. 

“You should warn me when you’re coming,” Reinhardt says. He turns to Brigitte and covers his eyes with overdramatic flourish. “Not you too, Brigitte! Oh, this is so embarrassing.” Brigitte laughs; his charm has always been disarming, and it has kept her in good spirits while she pursues her engineering projects. Having spent so much time around him, she’s not bothered if he sees her naked. 

“We’ll use the shower. Keep the room empty,” Zarya says as she finally releases Brigitte, who feels no real urgency to cover herself. 

Reinhardt straightens his posture and returns to scrubbing his herculean body. “Don’t take too long. If I scare off too many people, I’ll get kicked out again,” he says as Zarya turns on another shower. Brigitte has always envied his strength and regarded him as an endearing mentor but seeing his incredible stature unobscured by clothes or armor makes her reconsider her outlook. Much like Zarya, his body demonstrates years of dedication and perseverance, traits which she considers a massive turn on.

He turns and Brigitte catches a glimpse of his cock, hanging between his ripped thighs. It suddenly makes sense how he often complains about the way her armor fits. She fixates on its sway, her pussy twitching. Zarya approaches her but notices her distracted gaze. She follows her line of sight, then smirks. She comes up behind Brigitte and wraps one arm around to hold her breasts and sends the other between her legs. Brigitte gasps as Zarya envelopes her.   
“Reinhardt, I believe you’ve caught her attention,” Zarya says. He looks over to the captive Brigitte. She tries to look away, but her eyes keep coming back to the monster between his legs. His cock twitches as he notices his young comrade’s interest in his body. 

“You flatter me,” he says. Zarya kisses Brigitte’s cheek, then moves back to nibble her earlobe. Brigitte moans and reaches down to the hand over her crotch. Zarya rubs Brigitte’s swollen labia. Brigitte’s knees press together and she clenches Zarya’s wrist. Her cheeks burn a bright red. 

“Don’t be shy. You want to play with us?” Zarya whispers. “We haven’t had three before.” Brigitte shudders and looks over to Reinhardt’s enraptured stare, then to his growing erection. Her jaw hangs open as drool pools at the corners of her mouth. Brigitte twists her head to look back at Zarya, whose beaming aura guides Brigitte to a decision. 

She pushes onto her toes and locks her soft lips against Zarya’s. She then turns to Reinhardt and meets his longing gaze. “I’m ready. Come get me.”

“It’s nice to throw an old dog a bone,” he says, taking his cock in hand. Zarya pinches Brigitte’s nipple and jerks it up and down, her breast jiggling and bouncing with every flick of the wrist. Zarya buries a finger into Brigitte’s soaking wet pussy, and Brigitte pushes her hips into her. She kisses Zarya, the humid air condensing on their faces and trailing down to their meeting lips. 

Brigitte watches Reinhardt approach from the corner of her eye. She moans and grasps Reinhardt’s cock. She pumps it slowly, captivated by its size. He steps closer, reaching around and grabbing Zarya’s ass while his other hand runs through Brigitte’s long red hair. Zarya grinds her hips against Brigitte, her clit dragging along her thick butt.

Reinhardt and Zarya’s solid bodies enfold Brigitte and she is pinned within muscle and ecstasy. Zarya’s palm rubs Brigitte’s clit as her fingers plunge deeper into her. Zarya moves the hand that groped Brigitte’s breasts down to Brigitte’s ass, smacking it and probing between her cheeks. She finds Brigitte’s tense asshole and slides a probing finger inside. Brigitte yelps and pulls back from Zarya’s kiss, unaccustomed to the feeling. She takes a moment to appraise it and, her rolling eyes signaling her satisfaction, thrusts herself back onto Zarya’s waiting lips. 

As Zarya tests Brigitte’s receptiveness, Reinhardt’s hand brushes through Brigitte’s hair down over her breasts and comes to her abs. The shower’s heat washes over Brigitte’s body and leaves some of her skin flushed, her lean abs faintly tinted a light pink. His fingertips glide against the slick, solid wall of rippling muscle supporting her midsection. 

Zarya toys with Brigitte faster. Her fingers push deeper as her wrists bend and thrust with greater force. She grinds against Brigitte, and the sweat accruing on her body blends with rogue drops of the shower’s spray and trickles from her skin to Brigitte’s. Her breasts press into Brigitte’s back. Her nipples spark at every subtle movement Brigitte makes.

Reinhardt worships Brigitte’s figure. Brigitte uses her entire body to jerk Reinhardt off, causing her breasts to bounce and her defined muscles to tense. If he focuses his vision—a challenge, but a worthwhile one—he can nearly see the striations in her upper chest and shoulders. He scans over her, his gaze directed toward one detail only for some peripheral excitement to demand his attention and change his focus. His erection pulses hard in Brigitte’s forceful grip.

Brigitte’s nervous system overloads from the uninhibited stimulus she receives from Zarya. Her unsteady stance fails as her quaking knees give way. Her body quivers and, without her legs supporting her, Zarya’s penetrating grasp is the only thing keeping her upright. Brigitte feels her warm cum coat Zarya’s fingers. She loosens her hold on Reinhardt.

She pants and her partners allow her to collect her strength before continuing. Brigitte sets her feet flat against the tiled floor, but she topples over when applying any weight to them. The exhaustion that her earlier leg work out brought and that her adrenalin later subdued catches up to her.

“I don’t think I can stand,” Brigitte says. Zarya smirks and looks up to Reinhardt. He reads her devilish expression, then smiles back at her.

“Don’t worry. We take care of you,” Zarya says. Reinhardt supports Brigitte as Zarya removes her fingers. She squats and wraps her arms around Brigitte’s thighs. She looks up to Reinhardt. “One, two, three.”

Zarya lifts Brigitte, keeping the thick thighs in her grasp spread wide apart. Reinhardt helps her guide Brigitte’s pussy to his throbbing cock. Brigitte bites her lip as his fat head presses against her tender labia. She reaches down and brings the tip to the entrance of her pussy. Zarya brings her forward and slides her down Reinhardt’s cock. She groans as she takes in his exceptional girth. While ecstasy consumes Brigitte, Zarya wraps Brigitte’s tensed legs around Reinhardt’s waist and releases her.

Reinhardt’s cock stretches Brigitte beyond limits even her loneliest days would allow her to test. Her lips curl and her jaw hang open, and a line of drool falls from her delirious smile. She sits halfway down his cock and already feels her next orgasm mounting. Her torso drifts downward. She gasps and tries to catch herself, then notices the steady hands supporting her back as she reclines. She relaxes as Zarya lowers her past parallel to the floor. 

“Now is our turn,” Zarya says. Reinhardt tights his hold on Brigitte’s waist as Zarya brings each hand over to Brigitte’s wrist. She holds Brigitte’s hanging upper body and steps forward. She spreads her legs as she approaches. Zarya’s inner thighs brush against Brigitte’s ears as she straddles the dangling red-head. Brigitte stares at the swollen labia above her, then glances to the clasping hands keeping her lower body at Reinhardt’s service. 

Zarya lifts Brigitte up into her waiting pussy. The kiss of opposing lips sends a shiver down her spine. She presses Brigitte’s hands into her tits, initially hoping to recruit her back muscles and make the hold easier, though the pressure against her chest distracts her. Brigitte’s tongue slips between her wet lips and travels up to Zarya’s clit. Zarya lets out an involuntary moan. She realizes keeping the position will need more effort than she had expected, but she’s found that hard work always gives the best results, so she perseveres. 

Careful not to disturb Zarya’s balance, Reinhardt pumps his hips slowly. He watches Brigitte’s belly roll as he moves, pushing his tip against the roof of her insides. Her fluid movement coupled with the pale, glistening skin of her front drives him wild. He moves faster, her bouncing breasts and warm pussy driving him mad. His hands carefully trace her curves down to the dense thighs flexing around his bare waist. He squeezes her defined quads and pushes deeper into her. He earns a sudden jolt and muffled exclamation. 

Brigitte hums in silenced celebration. Having her face buried in Zarya’s intoxicating body while Reinhardt’s massive cock impales her clears her mind—or fogs everything so effectively that she can focus on nothing. She dips her tongue into Zarya’s pussy and, judging from the way Zarya’s thighs tense against her head, she figures Zarya is surprisingly sensitive. She flips and twirls her tongue as far inside as she can go. She feels Zarya’s stiff nipples dig into the backs of her hands. 

Reinhardt’s cock, meanwhile, pushes her further and further beyond what she thought possible for herself. Each new inch of his shaft awakens a new attention-starved inch inside her. She savors every cell that touches her, happy that Reinhardt has kept the lust that motivated some of his most exciting personal stories.

Zarya’s grip weakens and Reinhardt’s movements become erratic. They look down at the beautifully sculpted body sending them both into a frenzy. Zarya’s knees lock and she moans as an electric buzz floods her body. Reinhardt’s pelvis claps against Brigitte’s. Brigitte’s body spasms as he moves faster. The pressure in his shaft becomes uncontrollable and he finally fills her with hot, thick cum. Brigitte, accepting her partners’ simultaneous orgasms, bucks and howls into Zarya as her own climax spreads through her body.

Reinhardt and Zarya set Brigitte down carefully. The trio sits for a moment. They bask in the afterglow until the locker room door squeaks open and brings them back to reality.

“I’m almost done! Patience,” Reinhardt shouts with what threatening tone he can muster in his post-orgasmic weakness. Zarya grabs Brigitte’s arm and lifts her up. They wave to Reinhardt and vanish through the faulty service door. They return to the women’s locker room and, realizing they’ve forgotten their soap, decide to just rinse off the sweat and cum and get changed.

“You’re free to join us anytime you wish,” Zarya says as she rubs a towel into her short hair. 

Brigitte smiles. “Tomorrow’s my rest day. Maybe we can meet up somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” Zarya says, a smile crossing her face, “I could take a rest day.”


	10. Mei X Baptiste X McCree X Torbjorn X Junkrat – Save Our Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climate change is affecting fertility rates, and Overwatch's top scientist Mei is going to do her best to make sure her comrades are in good health.
> 
> This chapter contains: Group Sex, Gangbang

Mei sits at her desk and reviews the article in her hands. The tall window overlooking Overwatch’s base in Queensland brings sunlight into her cramped office. She sets down the paper and drops her head into her hands. 

She looks up at the air conditioning vent on the roof, which hasn’t brought any cool air since she arrived two days ago. It’s rare for her to be stationed somewhere so warm, so she has few outfits to choose from. Today she sports a simple white t-shirt and jeans. However, after realizing how quickly sweat accumulates and stains the fabric around her armpits and under her breasts, she’s considering a shopping trip to find something with a lower potential for embarrassment.

She types up a few emails on her PC asking a some of her coworkers to come by her office at separate times, in part because she can’t comfortably fit all of them at once, but also because the topic at hand is best discussed privately. Though the operatives deployed with her are a strange mishmash of criminals and soldiers, it’s precisely because of the unusual composition of her team that she took an interest in this article. 

Junkrat arrives first, much earlier than she had expected. He barges into her office and marches up to her desk.

“What’s this about, then? Hurry it up, haven’t got all day,” he says, staring not so subtly at the expanse of cleavage that her deep V-neck collar fails to contain. Mei clears her throat and speaks with whatever poise she can muster.

“I’ve read a study about some men from certain extreme climates having some, um, reproductive issues,” she says, unable to maintain eye contact with Junkrat’s wild glare.

“Not a problem. Prick’s workin’ fine,” Junkrat says as he grabs his crotch. The outline of his cock becomes visible against the thin fabric of his pants. Mei blushes and tries to look back at his face, but her eyes again dart away, finding it too difficult to look at him in any capacity. She fumbles with the papers strewn across her desk. 

“It’s not specifically that. It’s more like the result of the… The possibility of having children, that is, seems to go down because the body—”

“Fackin’ good. Don’t want any kids anyway.”

“But, for people that do—to understand what is happening and maybe fix it, we need to research this more. So, I wanted to ask if you would make an appointment with the sperm bank in Brisbane to collect a sample for analyzing.”

“Got no time to dick around in Brisbane,” he says, indignant. “You want a fackin’ sample, you can take it yourself.” He stretches his waistband and pulls his flaccid cock from his shorts. She gasps but suddenly finds it hard to look away from him.

She thinks for a moment. It would be cruel of her to unleash such a chaotic force on the public. And, the quicker she can get a sample, the less time she needs to spend dealing with him. She stands and Junkrat flinches, expecting her to explode for taking things too far like most other women he encounters. 

She opens a drawer in her desk and takes out a few beakers. She lines them up in front of her computer. She circles to the front of her desk and leans back against its edge, her plump ass spilling onto the tabletop as she takes Junkrat’s cock in her hand.

“Don’t tell anyone about this. It’s only for research purposes. Understand?” She spits onto his cock and strokes it, spreading her warm saliva over his shaft. Junkrat grins, pleasantly surprised by how seriously she took his taunt.

“Jesus. I should ring up Mako, too. Bet you can get a fine sample outta him,” he says.

“Well… I think it’s better he goes to Brisbane,” she says. She can tolerate Junkrat’s eccentricity, but Roadhog is too intimidating for her to deal with in person.

Mei watches Junkrat’s cock grow in her hand and feels somewhat proud that she can excite him so easily. Junkrat cups Mei’s buxom breasts and squeezes them, his fingers sinking into them through her cotton top. She pushes his hands away.

“What are you doing?” she says.

“Just trying to speed things up. Wanna get real’ hot for a good sample,” he says. 

She sighs. “Okay, fine. But don’t be rough.” Junkrat digs his hands into her chest. He fondles them, noticing their surprising weight. He pinches their peaks where he assumes her nipples are, and from her moaning, he is right on the mark. 

He lifts her shirt to reveal her round midsection and sweat-stained blue bra. He runs his hands up her soft skin to the cups of her bra, then flips them. Her massive bust topples out, smacking gently against her wet skin. Mei blushes as Junkrat buries his bare hands in her enveloping tits. His cock pokes against her stomach as he reaches full mast. She stares down at his swollen head and spits on it again.

“What is going on here?” Mei looks up at the doorway to her office, which she now realizes has been open all this time, and sees Baptiste, McCree, and Torbjorn watching her. Their faces show confusion and lust, save for Torbjorn who shows exclusively lust. Mei looks to Baptiste whose stern voice first demanded her attention.

“You guys came earlier than I expected,” she says, still pumping Junkrat’s cock. 

“Your message says it was an emergency. High priority,” Baptiste says. 

“Yes, it could be one. Sorry if I worried you. I didn’t want to talk to all of you at once, but since you’re here... We need to study how climate change is affecting fertility rates, so I need you all to go to the sperm bank in Brisbane and leave a sample.”

“What if we want that kind of service,” Torbjorn says, pointing to the hand-job happening before his eyes.

“I suppose if you prefer giving the sample to me directly, then I can help,” she says. Torbjorn immediately unbuckles his belt and sheds his pants. He runs up to one of the guest chairs pressed against the wall, scoots it beside Mei, and climbs up. She takes his erection—not what most would consider “impressive,” but noteworthy for someone of his size—and offers the same spit-and-stroke routine she gives to Junkrat. Torbjorn’s meaty fingers caress Mei’s abdomen, her voluptuous body proving irresistible. 

Baptiste marches up to Mei, her hands occupied by the men flanking her, and he caresses her cheek. His fingers slide down her front and hook on the waistband of her pants. He kneels, unbuttons her jeans, and pulls them down her thick, soft thighs. A string of grool clings to the denim and stretches from her pussy.

“A bra, but no panties?” he says.

Mei blushes. “It’s hot here, and it’s easier to tell when you don’t have a bra…” She trails off. Baptiste admires her glistening lips. He kisses the inside of her thigh and drags his tongue along her skin as he inches closer to her crotch.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she says, biting her lip as Baptiste’s lips graze her labia.

“We can’t have all the fun,” he says, pressing his forehead into her cushiony abdomen. Mei moans softly and looks up to McCree, who still stands in the doorway, a little uncertain of what to do.

“It’s okay, Jesse,” she says, “if you need me to help you.” McCree looks into Mei’s eyes, nearly pleading him to join in the fun she’s unexpectedly having. She’s never felt so wanted or sexy before. McCree can see her flattery and, as a gentleman, he can’t rightly deny her a bit of pleasure.

“Ashe’ll probably raise hell if she finds out, but I reckon we just gotta keep this here a secret.” He approaches and she smiles. There aren’t many spots available, so he climbs on the desk and pulls his cock out of his trousers. Mei doesn’t hesitate to take it in her mouth. She kisses the tip and licks the shaft.

Mei’s hips gyrate as Baptiste’s tongue explores her eager pussy. He grips her thighs tightly and buries his face into her mound, making sure to taste every inch of her. Her moans are stifled by McCree’s cock, which glides into her mouth. Her eyes close, allowing her senses to dull and the lust to take over.

Torbjorn, jealous of the extra affection Mei seems to have for Baptiste’s generous treatment, leans over and grabs one of her massive breasts with both his hands. He brings it toward him and sucks on her hard nipples. His breath and saliva coat her skin and she flinches and coos. Torbjorn grins proudly and sucks her tender nipple.

Junkrat’s hands wander around her body before finally setting one on her breast and the other on her ass. He squeezes her ass roughly and his fingers are consumed in the slick, tight walls of her ass crack. The tip of his middle finger brushes against her asshole and she bucks. She opens her eyes and glares at Junkrat, a warning not to do something so embarrassing again. 

Her disapproval only encourages him, though. He licks his fingers and returns to her ass, teasing her asshole by navigating the perimeter of its tense entrance. She trembles, though the more he toys with her, the more her annoyance seems to fade. He finally dips his fingertip into her, and she shudders. He pushes further, deeper, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. 

Baptiste, feeling Mei’s pussy flex and tighten, moves up to her clit and traces it with his tongue. He licks his fingers quickly and slides them into her. Mei quivers, unable to handle all the stimulation. She pulls McCree’s cock from her mouth and pants heavily. Her legs shake as she cums. Baptiste licks her clean and waits for her to regain her composure. 

He stands and pulls out his massive cock. Mei eyes it with both fear and desire. 

“Your arms are probably getting tired,” he says. “Let us take care of you now.”

“I call the back side,” says Junkrat. He shoos McCree off the desk, then lies down. Torbjorn lets go of Mei’s breast and hops onto the desk as well. Baptiste and McCree help Mei get settled atop Junkrat. She lies flat on top of him. 

Junkrat spits in his hand and lubricates his cock, then eagerly buries it in Mei’s asshole. She gasps and tries to protest but cannot find the mental strength to form words. 

Baptiste comes next, teasing her sopping wet pussy with the tip of his cock, running it up and down her sensitive lips. Mei’s eyes meet his, her gaze silently begging him to get on with it. Finally, he pushes in. He gets halfway and Mei is a quivering mess; McCree supports her back to keep her from losing her balance. Baptiste decides to go easy on her for the time being and doesn’t push much further. 

Torbjorn climbs on top of Mei and straddles her chest. He digs his calloused hands into Mei’s tits. He presses them together around his cock, playing with them as he fucks her cleavage. He collects some of the sweat beneath her breasts ease the friction of his bare skin against hers.

She looks to her side where McCree is bringing is cock up to her mouth. “If you need air, you just tap this here desk three times, alright?” he says. She nods and he plunges his throbbing cock down her throat. She nearly chokes on his forceful thrust, but she perseveres and wraps her tongue around his shaft and locks her lips onto him.

McCree fucks Mei’s mouth. His balls swing from his constant movement. They slap Junkrat in the face and he growls. “Oi cunt, mind movin’ ya fackin’ nuts?”

“Sorry, friendo. You shoulda picked a better spot.” McCree continues moving, and Junkrat whips his head around to the other side of Mei. 

Torbjorn gets lost in the moment and brings his legs up, putting his full weight onto Mei and Junkrat, though Junkrat seems to suffer the worst of it.

“Put ya legs down, ya fat shit,” Junkrat snaps.

“Apologies,” Torbjorn says and regains his footing.

Junkrat, annoyed that the others robbed him of the one-on-one service he was getting earlier, takes out his frustration Mei, pounding her ass with vigor. She moans and grunts and her hands fly around the table, looking for something to hold on to for support. 

Baptiste grabs her wrists and pulls her toward him as he fucks her. His hips swing and rotate as his cock bores into her, and in his excitement, he breaks the halfway rule he’d set for himself. He bottoms out, hammering Mei with the full length of his girthy cock. Her moans are now akin to screams, the sounds of which are stifled as McCree’s shaft plugs her mouth. 

“Leave one of them arms free,” McCree says, noticing Baptiste’s hold on Mei. “She needs some kind of safety valve, don’t she?”

“Ah, right. Of course.” He releases one of her arms, which tenses and flails at the intense stimulus overrunning her body. She reaches up and around to McCree’s ass and digs her fingers into his glutes. He winces at her sharp nails, but, like a true gentleman, he doesn’t complain. 

The men fuck her wildly, greedily, and Mei adores every second of it. For the first time in her life, she’s wanted, irresistible, worshipped. Despite her success in work, this is one of her first personal sexual victories as she had invested so little of her time into her social life while building her career. With so little effort, she could seduce four men to ravage her simultaneously in the middle of a workday in her office. She had never felt sexier than she does now.

Torbjorn is the first to blow his load, coating Mei’s neck and staining the bra and t-shirt that had been rolled up but not removed. Junkrat cums next, then McCree, and finally Baptiste. The four finish in quick succession, and their climaxes encourage Mei to orgasm as well. 

She chokes on McCree’s cum, then coughs it up while trying to salvage it, and finally manages to keep it in her mouth as he pulls out. When Junkrat and Baptiste pull out, she quickly covers herself to keep the semen from spilling onto the floor. The men climb off her and help her to her feet. She rushes to the row of beakers. She spits McCree’s cum into one, then has Baptiste set two more on the floor so she can deposit Baptiste and Junkrat’s samples. She finally wipes off Torbjorn’s and places it in the beaker. She labels the four and prepares them for shipping as the men dress themselves. 

“Are you sure those samples will be usable?” Baptiste says. “Aren’t they contaminated?”

Mei takes out a fifth and sixth beaker, spitting into one and wiping some of her grool into the other. “If we supply samples of the fluids that would contaminate the sample, the lab can separate the fluids and create a clean sample.”

“Well, great. Let us know the results when you get them.”

“Of course,” she says. The men turn to leave. She blushes and holds her naked body, then takes a deep breath and calls after them. “If you ever want to do this again, just let me know.”

“You mean deposit more samples?”

“I mean the four of you fucking me.”

The men stare at each other in disbelief and assure her that they’ll be back. After they leave, Mei shuts the door to her office and locks it. She removes what’s left of her clothes and looks at her body. She smiles, proud of what she’s able to make men do for her body.


	11. Ashe X Lucio – A Good Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe is looking to expand her enterprise into some more legitimate areas. She's called in Lucio to talk about a potential partnership, and she's willing to do whatever it takes for him to sign on.
> 
> This Chapter Contains: Femdom

Lucio stands in the elevator leading to the top floor of Ashe’s business. The building’s only three stories, so he could’ve taken the stairs, but that would require removing his trademark roller blades. He certainly isn’t about to go into a business meeting without his widely recognized trademark. He is lucky this old warehouse adapted to an office space even has an elevator, especially since it belongs to a criminal enterprise. That it has accessibility options is surprising.

The doors open to a gray hallway where the concrete floor and ceiling are illuminated under harsh fluorescent lights. Bob’s imposing metal form greets Lucio. Bob motions for Lucio to follow. Lucio grabs the tail of Bob’s coat and glides behind him as Bob walks down the hall to a set of fancy double doors. Bob gestures for Lucio to enter, and he does. 

The doors open into a wide room, the oak furniture and red carpet contrasting with the rest of the building’s shabby appearance. Ashe sits behind a wooden desk, staring absently out a floor to ceiling window. She wears a white blouse a size too small, showing off the curves of her body. Her white hair flows over her shoulder, and a black hair tie hugs her wrist. Lucio knocks on the open door, and Ashe shifts her focus to him, somewhat annoyed that her train of thought was interrupted, though a subtle bright red comes over her cheeks as well. 

Lucio rolls up to the leather seat in front of her desk and sits. Bob shuts the doors behind him. Up close, it’s clear the tight shirt is stretched thin on her body, leaving it nearly transparent. Lucio can tell instantly she is not wearing a bra. He clears his throat and meets her gaze. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Ashe. You’re looking great. More beautiful every day,” he says.

The red on Ashe’s cheeks grows more intense. Her sharp eyes narrow on him, then soften as she remembers the intention of his visit. “Good to see you, too. I hope you don’t mind if we get right into it.” Her hands rest in her lap and, out of Lucio’s view, tug anxiously on the edge of her short skirt. 

“Sure. I’m curious what you’ve got up your sleeve,” he says.

“I’d like to explore some more legitimate business opportunities, and I reckon having a music studio would be mighty nice. So, how about letting us produce your next album, and in return, we won’t put no creative restrictions on your work. If you’re wanting more details, I can pull up a draft of a contract that’ll outdo whatever deal ya got now.” She smiles and pushes her breasts together between her arms.

“I’m not so sure,” Lucio says. His blades roll back and forth beneath him, the movement in his legs allowing him a distraction from Ashe’s clear attempt at seduction. The sound of his plastic wheels digging into Ashe’s carpet grates against her ears. The corners of her mouth twitch and she struggles to maintain her welcoming façade. 

“Is there anything ya don’t like? Maybe something we can work out?”

“It sounds great, but I feel like I’m getting treated pretty well by my label, all things considered. I could use a little creative freedom, but I’m not sure I’m willing to change labels for it.”

Ashe nods. “I tell ya, this is a good opportunity for the both of us. I swear, I’m willing to do anything to make it come about.” She puffs out her chest and raises her arms. She pulls her hair into a ponytail, and as she does, her shirt stretches, giving a clear view of her nipples through the fabric. She ties her hair back and gives a final stretch. This proves too much for the shirt and the two buttons containing her bust pop off, exposing her cleavage. 

She drops her arms quickly and covers herself. Lucio looks away, his legs swaying more intensely. Ashe, remembering the point of the meeting, lowers her arms. 

“I know you want this, but… I’m not really interested. I’m sorry,” Lucio says. Ashe looks down at his blades, which form small trenches in the carpet over which they tread. Ash bites her lip. 

“I thought so.” Ashe stands and walks slowly around her desk. Lucio notices her skirt is a little shorter than he’s seen before. A thin layer of sweat coats her inner thighs and shines under the sunlight falling through the window. She leans against her desk, pulling down shyly on her skirt. “I reckon we can work out some other benefits into your contract, if you like,” she says with more confidence than her face shows.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do. I’m not so sure, though. I mean, no offense, but I’m not really into older women. And not that that’s anything against you—“ Lucio suddenly loses his breath as Ashe’s high-heel boot slams into his chest. He topples back and slams against the floor with a crack.

Lucio winces, then feels Ashe step onto his chest. He looks up at her enraged expression. “You’ve got no manners, do ya, son?” she growls. “Can’t even pretend you’re interested? And on top of that, come in here and ruin my new carpet with your dumb little skates. The hell do you think you are?”

Lucio’s gaze drifts beneath Ashe’s skirt where her freshly shaved, exposed pussy reveals her willingness to get his cooperation. Lucio notices, against his own will, that his cock stiffens in his pants. Ashe sees his erection, and a wry grin crosses her face.

She digs her heel into Lucio’s ribs. His body tenses as pain shoots across his torso. Lucio’s cock twitches, stretching his waistband until his head peaks out. 

“Let’s try for a new accord. And I’ll warn ya, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Ashe steps off Lucio and removes her boots. With the pressure off his chest, Lucio takes a few deep breaths. He watches Ashe stand over him and place her bare foot on his shaft. Her warm sole rubs against the thin fabric of his pants. She twists her foot slowly from side to side, letting the fabric’s gentle movement tease his sensitive skin.

“Last chance for the original deal. We do the hard work, and you get all the creative freedom your little heart wants.” Ashe says, her cheeks burning a bright red.

Lucio swallows hard, takes a shaky breath. “I’m saying I’m okay with what I’ve got right now. Maybe in the future I’ll think about it.”

Ashe bites her lip. She moves the front of her foot off him and digs her heel into the base of his cock, creating a fulcrum that raises his cock out of his pants. His full length exposed, Ashe glances away as a mix of embarrassment and surprise hits her. She looks down at Lucio, who stares intently at her. His gaze is unyielding, as if transfixed by her sudden aggression. 

“Alright then, new deal. We produce your albums and sell commercial rights to whoever we please, without your input. We take 60% of the royalties. You get the other 40%.” She traces her toes down his shaft until finally coming to his balls. She holds there, waiting for his response. 

“That sounds like a worse offer. Why would I accept—” Lucio bucks as Ashe lowers her foot. 

“Fine. I’ll give you 30%.” Ashe lowers her voice to a harsh, intense whisper. Lucio shakes his head. Ashe forces her weight onto his balls. Lucio winces, squealing and writhing under Ashe.

“20%.” Her calf flexes as she crushes him into the hard floor. Lucio squirms, but does not try to break free.

“10%.” Tears streak down Lucio’s face. Ashe’s grin fades. She looks down and notices a stream of pre-cum leaking from Lucio’s tip. She steps off him, turns around, and walks back to her desk. Lucio gasps and cradles his aching testes.

“Fine. Leave. Guess ya weren’t worth the time anyway.” She bends over to gather her boots and puts them back on, making sure to flash him as she does. Sweat coats her inner thighs entirely, and her pussy glistens from a thin layer of grool coating her lips. 

Lucio sits up and watches her. “Well… is that all you had to offer?”

She takes a deep breath. “Here’s the last deal I’ll give ya. I get everything. Royalties, rights, any money from merchandise or ticket sales. Everything. In exchange, you and I can have some… fun.” She turns back to him, her forced smile replaced with a more honest scowl. 

“Like, this kind of fun?”

“Nope. Worse.”

“I guess it’s hard to turn down that kind of deal,” Lucio says, a sheepish grin crossing his face. 

“You’re disgusting. Strip. We’ll make this official.”

Lucio happily sheds his clothes and tosses them in a pile. He lies back on the floor expectantly, wearing nothing but his trademark rollerblades. Ashe kneels over his chest, her small skirt riding up and her wet pussy peaking from underneath. 

“Now, if ya want me, ya better beg.”

“Please, Miss Ashe—” Ashe slaps him hard across the face. 

“Don’t say my name, ya dirty pig. Ya call me ‘mistress,’ got it?”

“Yes ma’am—” Ashe slaps him again. “Yes mistress.”

“Good. Now beg.”

“Please, mistress. Let me, um… let me.” Ashe reaches behind her back and grabs his balls. She squeezes hard.

“Quit pussyfootin’. What do you want?”

“Please, mistress, choke me. Fuck me—” Ashe releases Lucio’s balls and wraps both hands around his neck. She slides down his abdomen and sits on his cock, rubbing her lips along his length. 

She takes one hand away and guides his cock into her. She moans softly and, without any difficulty, slides all the way down him. She grins. “Compared to Bob, you’re nothin’.”

She returns the hand to his throat and bounces on him. He stares at Ashe adoringly, mesmerized by her harsh eyes. Her breasts move with her, leaping as far as her tight blouse will allow. 

She feels his legs tense and tremble, and she jumps off him. She releases his neck and grabs his cock. “You’re not gonna cum like this.”

Ashe uses his cock as a handle, guiding Lucio’s pelvis into the air. She pulls his legs over his head, putting his ass in the air and his swollen cock pressing against his mouth. “Well, aren’t you flexible. Go ahead and wrap your lips round your head, and don’t think of lettin’ go ‘til I say,” Ashe commands. 

Lucio follows her instructions and fellates himself. Ashe steps away, picks up the chair out of which Lucio had been kicked, and stands it beside Lucio. She climbs onto it and grabs the back for support. She spits in her hand and rubs it on the heel of her boot. 

She brings her foot over Lucio. She sets the heel on his asshole and buries it as deep as it will go. The hard base of her shoe digs into Lucio’s vulnerable balls. He grunts and moans, the vibration in his lips carrying on to his cock.

“There ya go. Now you can cum,” Ashe says with a satisfied smile. As if on cue, Lucio erupts into his own mouth, the semen rocketing to the back of his throat. He hacks and coughs most of it onto the floor. Ashe removes her heel and hops off the chair.

“Look what ya did. Went and made mess. Clean it,” Ashe demands. Lucio rolls onto his side and licks his cum up off the floor. He swallows it, then opens his mouth to show Ashe it’s gone. 

“Good. This too.” Ashe raises the boot that had been in his ass. He crawls to her, wraps his lips around the heel, and sucks it clean. 

“Bob! Get a collar!” Ashe calls. A moment later, Bob bursts into the room and hands Ashe a dog collar. Ashe puts it on Lucio’s neck. “You keep this on at all times. It’s a sign of your contract. We’ll have papers for you to sign when we meet next.”

“When’s that gonna be, mistress?” Lucio asks excitedly.

“Whenever you like,” Ashe says. She kisses him gently on the forehead, then kicks him on the chest. She walks over to his pile of clothes and grabs his boxers. “Get dressed and get out. I’m keeping these. I swear, I can’t get how people go commando on the regular.” She puts on the boxers and returns to her desk. “Oh, and leave them stupid skates here.”

“But mistress—”

“No back talk. Do it.”

Lucio sighs and removes his skates. He places them on Ashe’s desk, then walks to his pile of clothes. He gathers his shirt and pants and, before he can put them on, is pushed out of the room by Bob. The doors to her office shut, and Ashe laughs to herself. “Sucker. Bob! When you’re done, I need ya to destroy somethin’.”


	12. D. Va X Futa-Widowmaker – Being Friendly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Widowmaker's undergoing treatment to revive her humanity. D. Va has offered to help her get through this trying time, but she doesn't quite realize how much the new medicine is affecting Widowmaker.
> 
> This Chapter Contains: Futanari, Futa X Fem

Flashing lights and vibrant music flood a small, dark apartment living room. A leather couch has been pushed away from the large TV responsible for the chaos, and a coffee table is filled with snacks and drinks. Through a sliding glass door, the starless night sky meets a nearby city’s glow. D. Va and Widowmaker sit in bean bag chairs where the couch had once been, their thumbs jumping across the PlayStation controllers in hand and eyes fixed on the TV screen. 

D. Va, wearing simply a loose blue t-shirt and pink panties, leans and grunts with her character, deeply invested in the game. Her hair is tied in a messy ponytail with strands coming loose with each time she jerks her body.

Widowmaker, dressed more modestly in long sleeve pajamas and her long purple hair flowing over her shoulders, seems uninterested. She presses the buttons on the controller absently, her gaze pointed in the same direction as D. Va’s but her attention elsewhere. 

It doesn’t take long before the game ends with D. Va’s resounding victory. She throws her hands into the air. “Fifty in a row! You’re getting better, Amy! Maybe if you tried playing a beefier character, you could get in a few more hits.”

“Sure,” Widowmaker says, her voice distant. D. Va studies her, the excitement on her face turning more serious.

“Is everything alright, Amy?” D. Va sets down her controller and cocks her head, searching for a better view of Widowmaker’s face.

“I don’t know.” Widowmaker’s fingers wander to a bottle of medicine on the tabletop. She contemplates the complex scientific name written along the label.

“Well, Moira did say that it’d be a little strange getting your old emotions back. But, the more fun we have, the faster you’ll feel better!” D. Va’s optimistic tone evens out and she speaks with a concerned whisper. “Are you having fun?”

Widowmaker pulls away from the bottle and sets her hands in her lap. She stares down at them. “I suppose… “

“You can be honest. We need to know if things aren’t going well.”

“I think the treatment has had some unexpected side effects.”

D. Va perks up. “Like what? Are you okay?”

Widowmaker glances up at D. Va’s concerned face. She sets her hands between her thighs and presses her legs together. “Will you keep it secret?”

“I’ll try. But if it’s something that might hurt you—”

“No, no. It’s more… embarrassing.”

D. Va’s bright smile returns. She leans toward Widowmaker. “Oh! Then share away! It’s normal to tell embarrassing secrets at a slumber party.”

“Really?” Widowmaker looks at D. Va, making brief eye contact, then quickly looking away. “If so… would you go first?”

“Sure!” D. Va turns to face Widowmaker and lifts her shirt, revealing her perky, round breasts. Beneath them, a glistening mask of sweat trickles down her smooth, pale skin. Widowmaker looks at her, blushes, and squeezes her legs together even tighter. 

“I get really sweaty under my boobs, like, all the time. It makes wearing a bra really uncomfortable, so I never do.” She notices Widowmaker’s reserved demeanor. She drops her shirt. “Sorry, was that a little too much?”

“Perhaps a little,” Widowmakers says quietly.

“I didn’t mean to, like… I thought, since you’re French and all that, maybe seeing another girl’s boobs wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Perhaps normally it’s not a problem, but for right now…”

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have stereotyped. I swear I didn’t mean anything bad.”

Widowmaker’s lips curl in a shy smile. “No, I believe it helped a little. It was surprising. That’s all.” She thinks for a moment, then looks up at D. Va. “Mine is perhaps more intimate.”

D. Va looks over Widowmaker’s guarded position. A hint of red colors D. Va’s face. “Would it help if I shared a secret about that as well?”

Widowmaker’s face flushes, and she slowly nods. D. Va leans back into her bean bag and throws her legs in the air. She peels her panties off, tosses them to the side, and spreads her legs. She presents her bare pussy, perfectly shaved with a small scar on her pubic mound.

“One time I was masturbating on the corner of my desk, and I got a little too excited and lost my balance. I hit the desk really hard and started bleeding. I was crying for hours, and I was too embarrassed to tell my parents why. They thought I was depressed for almost a week,” D. Va says. She laughs to herself. “It’s funny thinking back on it, but at the time it was super painful.”

Widowmaker smiles and clutches her crotch even tighter. 

“Feel a little better?” D. Va says, a tinge of embarrassment bringing her legs closed. “I’m sure whatever you’ve got can’t be as embarrassing as that.”

Widowmaker looks at the floor and sighs. “Do not tell anyone about this. Promise?” she says. 

“I promise! 2000%!” D. Va says, her face alight.

Widowmaker nods. She stands and faces D. Va. She removes her hands from her crotch and a sizeable bulge appears in her pants. She hooks the waistband and quickly drops her pants, revealing a long, throbbing cock that grows as it meets the open air. The balls at its base rest against Widowmaker’s solid thighs. 

Widowmaker covers her face. D. Va stares at the massive cock mere feet from her. Her eyes widen. She purses her lips, refusing to show her surprise through words. 

“I wanted to be human again,” Widowmaker says through her palms. “I wanted to go back to being a real woman. I did not want this.”

D. Va perks up. She stands and walks up to Widowmaker. She gently wraps her fingers around Widowmaker’s wrists and pulls her hands away. Widowmaker looks up at her.

“You are a real woman,” D. Va says. “Your body doesn’t define you. You are a real woman. And you are human.”

Widowmaker’s lip quivers. D. Va releases her wrists. The two suddenly jolt in unison. They look down; Widowmaker’s erect cock pokes the scar on D. Va’s mound, leaving a slick dot of pre-cum. The two look back at each other and laugh.

They stare into each other’s eyes, basking in the bright reflected colors flashing around their irises. D. Va stands up straight. 

“Do you wanna hear another secret?” she says. Widowmaker nods. D. Va steps forward, and Widowmaker’s cock slides up D. Va’s abdomen and rests under her loose shirt. D. Va places her hands on Widowmaker’s shoulders. “I think I’ve always liked girls better than boys.”

Widowmaker leans forward. “I think I have as well,” she says. Her hands rest on D. Va’s firm ass. D. Va smirks and locks her lips with Widowmaker’s.

D. Va’s hands slide down Widowmaker’s front, unbuttoning her pajamas as she goes. She pulls off Widow’s top and reveals her large breasts, her dark purple nipples stiff and eager for attention. Widow smiles. “Honestly, I do not like bras very much either,” she says.

D. Va’s fingers sink into Widowmaker’s breasts as she passionately kisses down her neck. Her warm breath cascades over Widow’s skin. Widowmaker moans and grinds her cock against D. Va’s lean abs. Widowmaker grabs and kneads D. Va’s ass, pulling her closer. 

D. Va pushes Widowmaker down onto the bean bag chair. She tears off her shirt and throws it aside. She climbs onto Widowmaker and slides her cock inside. D. Va’s legs shake, her body not fully prepared for such size and girth. She rides, her ass bouncing atop Widow’s balls and clapping against her thighs. Her breasts sway and jump. Widowmaker reaches out and pinches her nipples, keeping them still while the rest of D. Va’s body maintains constant motion. 

Widow pulls D. Va close, earning a surprised squeal, and holds her close. She rolls over, reversing their positions. With D. Va now lying flat, Widow lifts D. Va’s legs into the air and pounds her tight pussy. D. Va bucks and moans, her breasts bounding from each intense thrust. 

D. Va’s feet caress Widow’s cheeks. Widow’s breasts press into D. Va’s legs, her nipples pushing hard into the skin. 

Widow leans forward, bending D. Va into a tight press. Widow stares into D. Va’s flushed face, now inches apart, their bodies separated only by D. Va’s legs. D. Va runs her hands through Widow’s hair and smiles. “You’re so beautiful,” she says. 

Widow smiles and bites her lip as she plunges deep into D. Va. She bucks and trembles. Widow releases a hot load of cum into D. Va, which leaks out as she removes her cock. 

The two lie on the bean bag for while, holding each other tightly. The screen goes dim as the forgotten game sits idle. Widowmaker traces D. Va’s lips with her fingertips and presses her forehead against D. Va’s.

“I hope we can have another sleep over soon,” D. Va says.

“Me too,” says Widowmaker.

**Author's Note:**

> This anthology is finally done!
> 
> I like writing smut, but I don't think I have the mental fortitude to do it super often. Nevertheless, I will write when inspiration strikes!
> 
> Future anthologies (if they exist) will probably have some kind of unifying theme. This feels more like a portfolio of stuff I like to write.
> 
> If you've got a request or feedback or whatever, you can message me here or on Twitter (Can I post my twitter handle here? I don't know. Message me and I'll give it to you.).


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